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Q(LHy)§T[^ATl[5) ©V T@[RilY ^©Cil^lROlMOT. 

VOL. III. . 'I 

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montesinos; the greatness AND IMPOSSIBILITY OF WHICH 

T was about four of the 
clock in the afternoon, when 
the sun, hidden among the 
clouds, and only emitting a 
faint light and temperate 
rays, gave Don Quixote an 
opportunity, without heat 
or trouble, of relating to his 
two illustrious hearers what 
he had seen in the cavern 
of Montesinos. He began 
in the following manner : 
"About twelve or fourteen 
fathoms in the depth of this 


dungeon, there is a concavity on the right hand, wide enough to con- 
tain a large waggon, mules and all. A little light makes its way 
into it, through some cracks and holes at a distance in the surface of 
the earth. This spacious concavity I saw, just as I began to be weary 
and out of humour at finding myself suspended to a rope, and descend- 
ing through that obscure and dreary region without knowing 
whither I was going. I therefore determined to enter into it and 
rest a little. I called out to you aloud not to let down more rope 
till I bid you, but it seems you heard me not. I gathered up the 
cord you continued to let down, and coiling it up into a heap or 
bundle, I sat me down upon it extremely pensive, considering what 
method I should take to descend to the bottom, having nothing to 
support my weight. While I was thus absorbed in thought, and 
uncertain what to do, I suddenly fell into a deep sleep, and, when 
I least thought of it, awoke, and found myself, I knew not by 
what means, in the midst of the pleasantest and most delightful 
meadow that nature could create, or the most pregnant fancy 
imagine. I opened and rubbed my eyes, and perceived that I was 
not asleep, but really awake. However, I could not forbear feeling 
my head and breast, to be assured whether it was I myself who was 
there, or some empty and counterfeit illusion. But feeling, sensa- 
tion, and the coherent discourse I made to myself, convinced me 
that I was then there the same person I am now here. 

" Immediately a royal and splendid palace or alcazar presented 
itself to my view, the walls and battlements whereof seemed to be 
built of clear and transparent crystal. A pair of great folding doors 
opened of their own accord, and I saw come forth and advance 
towards me, a venerable old man, clad in a long purple mourning 
cloak, which treiiled upon the ground. Over his shoulders and 
breast, he wore a kind of collegiate tippet of green satin ; he had a 
black Milan cap on his head, and his hoary beard reached below his 
girdle. He carried no weapons at aU, only a rosary of beads in his 
hand, bigger than middling walnuts, and every tenth bead like an 
ordinary ostrich egg. His mien, his gait, his gravity, his goodly 
presence, struck me with surprise and awe. He came up to me, 
and the first thing he did was to embrace me closely ; then he said : 




* It is a long time, valorous knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, 
since we, who are shut up and enchanted in these solitudes, have 
hoped to see you, that the world by you may be informed what this 
deep cave, commonly called the cavern of Montesinos, encloses and 



conceals ; an exploit reserved for your invincible heart and stupendous 
courage. Come along with me, illustrious sir, that I may show 
you the wonders contained in this transparent castle, of which I am 
kaid and perpetual governor, for I am Montesinos himself, from 
whom this cavern derives its name '^^e.' 

" Scarcely had he told me he was Montesinos, when I asked him 
whether it was true, as reported in the world above, that with a 
little dagger he had taken out the heart of his great friend Duran- 
darte, and carried it to his lady Belerma, as Durandarte, at the point 

^ According to the romances of chivalry, collected in the cancionero general. 
Count Grimaldos, a French paladin, was falsely accused of treason by Count 
Tomillas, deprived of all his property and banished from France. Having escaped 
to the mountains with his Countess, the latter gave birth to a male child whom his 
parents called Montesinos, and who was received by a hermit into his grotto. 
When he was fifteen years old. Montesinos went to Paris, slew the traitor Tomillas 
in the King's presence, and proved the innocence of his father, who was recalled to 
court. Montesinos, having been created one of the twelve peers of France, was 
subsequently united by marriage to a noble Spanish damsel, Rosa Florida, lady of 
the castle of Rocha Frida, in Castile. He resided in this castle until his death, and 
his name was given to a cavern in the neighbourhood. — This cavern, situated in the 
jurisdiction of the town called the Osa of Montiel, and near the hermitage of San, 
Pedro de Saelices, may be about sixty feet in depth. Entrance into it is much 
more easily effected at the present day than in Cervantes' time, and it is frequently 
resorted to by shepherds as a shelter from the cold and from storms. In the bottom 
of the cavern runs a broad stream of water, which falls into the lagunes of Ruidera, 
whence flows the Guadiana, 

PART II. — CHAP. XXIir. 13 

of death, had desired him *37. He replied that all was true, except- 
ing as to the dagger, for it was neither a dagger, nor little, but a 
bright poniard, sharper than an awl." — "The poniard," inter- 

rupted Sancho, " must have been made by Raymon de Hoces, the 
armourer of Seville." " I do not know," continued Don Quixote ; 
" but, upon second thoughts, it could not be of his making, for 
Raymon de Hoces lived but the other day, and the battle of Ron- 
cesvalles, where this misfortune happened, was fought many years 
ago. But the maker's name is of no importance, and neither 
disorders nor alters the truth and connexion of the story." " True," 
answered the cousin ; " pray go on, Signor Don Quixote, for I 
listen to you with the greatest pleasure in the world." " And I tell 
it with no less," answered Don Quixote. " So I say that the 
venerable Montesinos conducted me to the crystalline palace, where, 
in a lower hall, extremely cool and all of alabaster, there stood a 
marble tomb of exquisite workmanship, whereon I saw laid at full 
length a cavalier, not of brass, marble, or jasper, as is usual on 
other monuments, but of pure flesh and bones. His right hand, 
which, to my thinking, was pretty hairy and nervous, (a sign that its 
owner was very strong) was laid on the region of his heart, and 
before I could ask any question, Montesinos, perceiving me fix my 
eyes on the sepulchre with astonishment, said : * This is my friend 
Durandarte, the flower and mirror of all the enamoured and valiant 
knights-errant of his time. Merlin, the French enchanter '^^^ 

^7 Durandarte was the cousin of Montesinos, and, like him, a peer of France. 
According to the romances cited above, he expired in the arras of Montesinos, at the 
defeat of Ronccsvallcs, and enjoined his cousin to take his heart to his lady Belcrma. 

*-^ This Merlin, the father of chivalric magic, was not of Gaul (France), but of 
Gnnllia (IVale/iJ; his history, thcr(;forc, belongs rather to that of King Arthur and the 
knight» of the Round Table, ihm to that of Charlemagne and the twelve peers. 



keeps him here enchanted, with me and many others of both sexes. 
It is said he is the son of the devil ; though I do not believe him 
to be the devil's son, but only, as the saying is, that he knows one 
point more than the devil himself. How or why he enchanted us, 
nobody knows ; but time will bring it to light, and I fancy it will 
not be long first. What astonishes me most, is that I am as certain 
as that it is now day, that Durandarte expired in my arms, and 
that, after he was dead, I pulled out his heart with my own hands ; 
and, indeed, it could not weigh less than two pounds, for, according 
to naturalists, he who has a large heart, is endued with more 
courage than he who has a small one. It being then certain that 
this cavalier really died, how cotíies it to pass that he complains 
every now and then and sighs, as if he were alive ?' At these 
words, the wretched Durandarte, uttering a loud cry, said : * O my 
dear cousin. Montesinos, the last thing I desired of you, when my 
soul was departing, was to carry my heart, ripping it out of my 
breast with a dagger or poniard, to Belerma^^g/ 

" When the venerable Montesinos heard this, he threw himself on 
his knees before the complaining cavalier, and, with tears in his 
eyes, said to him : * Long since, O my dearest cousin Durandarte, 
I did what you enjoined me on the fatal day of our defeat ; I took 
out your heart as well as I could, without leaving the least bit of 
it in your breast ; I vdped it with a lace handkerchief, bore it in 
all haste to France, having first laid you in the bosom of the earth, 
shedding as many tears as sufficed to wash my hands, and clean 
away the blood which stuck to them by raking in your entrails ; by 
the same token, dear cousin of my soul, at the first place I came to, 
after quitting the pass of Roncesvalles, I sprinkled a little salt over 
your heart in order that it might not putrify, but keep, if not fresh, 
at least dried up, till it came to your lady Belerma : that lady, 
together with you, me, your squire Guadiana, the Duenna Ruidera, 

^^ Durandarte's answer is taken from the ancient romances composed on the 
adventure of Belerma ; but Cervantes, quoting from memory, has remodelled and 
altered the verses in preference to making a literal quotation. 

PART 11. — CHAP. XXIII. 15 

her seven daughters and two neices, and several others of your 
friends and acquaintance, having been kept here, enchanted by the 
sage Merlin, these many years past. Though it be above five 
hundred years ago, not one of us is dead : only Ruidera and her 
daughters and nieces are gone, whom, because of their weeping, 
Merlin, out of compassion, turned into so many lagunes, which at 
this time, in the world of the living and in the province of La 
Mancha, are called the lagunes of Ruidera. The daughters 
belong to the kings of Spain, and the two nieces to the knights of 
a religious order, called that of Saint John. Guadiana also, your 
squire, bewailing your misfortune, was changed into a river of his 
own name, which arriving at the surface of the earth and seeing the 
sun of another sky, was so grieved at the thought of forsaking you, 
that he plunged again into the bowels of the earth. But, it being 
impossible to avoid taking the natural course, he rises now and 
then and shows himself, where the sun and people may see him '^^, 
The aforesaid lagunes supply him with their waters, with which, 
and several others that join him, he enters broad and stately into 
Portugal. Nevertheless, whithersoever he goes he discovers his 
grief and melancholy ; he does not pique himself on breeding in his 
waters delicate and costly fish, but only coarse and unsavoury ones, 
very different from those of the golden Tagus. What I now tell 
you, O my dearest cousin, I have often told you before, and since 
you make me no answer, I fancy you do not believe me, or do not 
hear me, which, God knows, afilicts me very much. One piece of 
news however I will tell you, which if it serves not to alleviate your 
grief, will in no wise increase it. Know then, that you have here 
present (open your eyes, and you will see him) that great knight, of 

**^ The source of the Guadiana is at the foot of the Sierra of Alcaraz, in La 
Mancha. The streams which run from that chain of mountains form seven small 
lakes, called Lagunes de Ruidera, the waters of which fall from one into the other. 
On leaving these lakes, the Guadiana runs for a distance of seven or eight leagues 
in a very deep bed, concealed under an abundant herbage, and only resumes a 
visible course after having passed through two other lakes called the Eyes (los ojos) 
of the Guadiana. The singularities of the course of this river were known to and 
described by Pliny, who calls the stream scppius tiasci yaudens (Hist. Nat., lib. iii., 
cap. 3). On these several remarkable natural features Cervantes has founded his 
ingenious fiction. 



whom the sage Merlin prophesied so many things, that Don 
Quixote de la Mancha, who, with greater advantages than in the 
ages past, has in the present times restored the long forgotten order 
of knight-errantry. By his means and favour, we may perhaps be 
disenchanted, for great exploits are reserved for great men.' — * And, 
though it shall fall out otherwise,' answered the wretched Durandarte 

in a 
I say 

faint and low voice, 'though it should not prove so, O cousin, 
V patience, and shuffle the cards ^*K' Then, turning himself on 

441 A proverbial expression taken from Gamblers, which we have, after Jarvis, 
decided to preserve hterally, because of the conclusions drawn from it by Don 
Quixote's guide in the following chapter. 



one side, he relapsed into his accustomed silence, without speaking 
a word more. 

"Then were heard great cries and wailings, accompanied by 
profound sighs and distressed sobbings. I turned my head about, 
and saw, through the crystal walls, a procession, in two files, of most 

beautiful damsels, all clad in mourning, with white turbans on their 
heads, after the Turkish fashion. In the rear of the two files came 
a lady (for by her gravity she seemed to be such), clad also in black, 
with a white veil, so long that it kissed the ground. Her turban 
was twice as large as the largest of the others ; her eye-brows were 
joined, her nose was somewhat flat, her mouth wide, but her lips 
red. Her teeth, which she sometimes shewed, were thin-set, and 
not very even, though as white as blanched almonds. She carried 
in her hand a fine linen handkerchief, and in it, as seemed to me, 
a heart of mummy, so dry and withered it appeared to be. 




Montesinos told me that all those of the procession were servants 
to Durandarte and Belerma, and were there enchanted with their 
master and mistress, and that she who came last, bearing the heart 
in the linen handkerchief, was the lady Belerma herself, who, four 

days in the week, made that procession, together with the damsels, 
singing, or rather weeping, dirges over the body, and over the 
piteous heart of her cousin. * If she appears to you rather ugly,* 
added he, * or not so beautiful as fame reported, it is occasioned by 


the bad nights and worse days she has passed in this enchantment, 
as may be seen by the great wrinkles under her eyes and her wan 
complexion. As to her being pale and hollow-eyed, it is not 
to be attributed to any feminine weakness or indisposition, but 
solely to the affliction her heart feels for what she carries 
continually in her hands, which renews and revives in her memory 
the disaster of her untimely deceased lover. Had it not been for 
this, the great Dulcinea del Toboso herself, so celebrated in these 
parts, and even over the whole world, would hardly have equalled 
her in beauty, good-liumour and sprightliness.' 

" * Fair and softly ! ' cried I then, * Signor Don Montesinos ; 
tell your story as you ought to do. You know that comparisons 
are odious, and therefore there is no need of comparing anybod}' 
with anybody. The peerless Dulcinea is what she is, and Signora 
Donna Belerma is what she is and what she has been, and so much 
for that.' — * Signor Don Quixote,' answered Montesinos, * pardon 
me. I confess I was in the wrong in saying that the lady Dulcinea 
would hardly equal the lady Belerma, for my understanding, by I 
know not what vague suspicions, guesses that your worship is her 
knight, which ought to have made me bite my tongue sooner than 
compare her to anything but Heaven itself.' 

" With this satisfaction given me by the great Montesinos, my 
heart was delivered from the surprise it was in at hearing my 
mistress compared with Belerma." — " And I too am astonished," 
said Sancho, " that your worship did not fall upon the old fellow, 
and bruise his bones with kicking, and pluck his beard till you had 
not left him a hair in it." — " No, friend Sancho," answered Don 
Quixote ; " it would have ill become me to do so ; for we are all 
bound to respect old men, thougli they be not kniglits, and 
especially those who are such and enchanted in the bargain. 1 know 
very well I was not at all behind-hand with him in several other 
questions and answers which passed between us." 

Here the cousin said : " I cannot imagine, Signor Don Quixote, 
how your worship, in the short space of time you were there 
below, could see so many things, and talk and answer so much." 
— " How long is it since I went down ? " demanded Don Quixote. 


" A little above an hour," answered Sancho. " That cannnot be," 
replied Don Quixote, " for night came upon me there, and then it 
grew day ; and then night came again, and day again, three times 
successively, so that I must have been three days in those parts, so 
remote and hidden from our sight." " My master," said Sancho, 
" must needs be in the right ; for, as every thing has happened to 
him in the way of enchantment, what seems to us but an hour may 
seem there three days and three nights." — " It is, doubtless, so," 
answered Don Quixote. " And has your worship, good Sir, eaten 
anything in all this time ? " demanded the scholar. " I have not 
broken my fast with one mouthful," answered Don Quixote ; " nor 
have I been hungry, or so much as thought of it all the while." — 
" Do the enchanted eat ? " said the scholar. " They do not eat," 
answered Don Quixote, " though it is a common opinion that their 
nails, their beards and their hair grow." " And, Sir, do the en- 
chanted sleep ? " asked Sancho. " No, truly," answered Don 
Quixote ; " at least, in the three days that I have been amongst 
them, not one of them has closed an eye, nor I neither." — " Here," 
said Sancho, " the proverb hits right : tell me your company, and I 
will tell you what you are. If your worship keeps company with 
those who fast and watch, what wonder is it that you neither eat 
nor sleep while you are with them ! But pardon me, good master 
of mine, if I tell your worship that of all you have been saying, 
God take me, I was going to say the devil, if I believe one word." 
— " What ! " cried the cousin, " is Signor Don Quixote capable of 
telling lies ! but no ; if he had a mind to it, he has not had time 
to imagine and compose such a heap of falsehoods." — " I do not 
believe my master lies," answered Sancho. " If not, what do you 
believe ? " asked Don Quixote. " I believe," answered Sancho, 
" that the same Merlin, or those necromancers who enchanted all the 
crew your worship says you saw and conversed with there below, 
have crammed into your imagination or memory all this stuff you 
have already told us, and what remains to be told." — " Such a thing 
might be, Sancho," replied Don Quixote*, " but it is not so ; for 

* Don Quixote, being actually caught by Sancho telling lies, dares not as usual 
be angry at his sauciness. 


what I have related I saw with my own eyes, and touched with my 
own hands. But what will you say when I tell you that, among 
an infinite number of wonders shewed me by Montesinos (which I 
will recount at leisure in the progress of our journey, in their due 
time, for they do not all belong properly to this place), he shewed 
me three country wenches who were dancing and capering like 
kids about those charming fields ? Directly I espied them, I knew 
one of themTobe the~peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, and the other 
two the very same wenches who came with her, whom we talked 
with near Toboso. I asked Montesinos whether he knew them ; 
he answered no ; but that he took them to be some ladies of quality 
lately enchanted, for they had appeared in those meadows but a few 
days before. He added that I ought not to wonder at that, for 
there were a great many other ladies there, of past and present 
ages, enchanted under various and strange figures, among whom 
he knew queen Ginevra and her duenna Quintañona, cup-bearer 
to Lancelot, according to the romance, when he arrived from 

When Sancho heard his master say all this, he was ready to run 
distracted or to die with laughing. As he knew the truth of the 
feigned enchantment of Dulcinea, of whom he himself had been the 
enchanter and the bearer of testimony, he concluded undoubtedly 
that his master had lost his senses, and was in all points mad. 
Therefore he said to him : " In an evil juncture and a worse season, 
and in a bitter day, dear patron of mine, did you go down to the 
other world ; and cursed be the moment in which you met with 
Signor Montesinos, who has returned you back to us in such guise. 
Your worship was very well here above, entirely in your senses, 
such as God had given you, speaking sentences and giving advice 
at every turn, and not as now relating the greatest extravagancies 
that can be imagined." — " As I know you, Sancho," answered Don 
Quixote, " I make no account of your words." — " Nor I of your 
worship's," replied Sancho ; " you may hurt me if you will, you 
may kill me if you please, for those I have said already, or those I 
intend to say, if you do not correct and amend your own. But tell 
me, Sir, now we are at peace, how or by what did you recognise 



the lady our mistress ? and if you spoke to lier, what said you ? 
and what answer did she make you ? " — " I knew her," answered 
Don Quixote, " by the very same clothes she wore when you shewed 
her to me. I spoke to her, but she answered me not a word ; on 
the contrary, she turned her back upon me, and fled away with so 
much speed that an arrow could not have overtaken her. I would 
have followed her, but Montesinos advised me not to tire myself with 
so doing, since it would be in vain, and that besides it was now 
time for me to think of returning and getting out of the cavern. He 
added that, in process of time, I should be informed of the means 
of disenchanting himself, Belerma, Durandarte, and all the rest 
there. But what gave me the most pain of anything I saw or took 
notice of, was, that while Montesinos was saying these things to me, 
there approached me on one side, unperceived by me, one of the 
two companions of the unfortunate Dulcinea, who addressed to me, 
with tears in her eyes and in a low and troubled voice, these words : 

* My lady Dulcinea del Toboso kisses your worship's hands, and 
desires you to let her know how you do ; and, being in great neces- 
sity, she earnestly begs your worship would be pleased to lend her, 
upon this new dimity petticoat I have brought here, six reals, or 
what you have about you, which she promises to return very 
shortly.' This message threw me into the utmost astonishment, 
and, turning to Signor Montesinos: — 'Is it possible, Signor,' I 
asked, 'that persons of quality under enchantment suffer necessity?' 

* Believe me, Signor Don Quixote de la Mancha,' he replied, 

* that what is called necessity prevails every where ; it extends to 
all and reaches every body, not excusing even those who are 
enchanted. Since the lady Dulcinea sends to desire of you those 
six reals, and the pawn is, in appearance, a good one, there is no 
more to be done but to give her them, for without doubt she must 
needs be in some very great straight.' — ' I will take no pawn,' 
answered I, ' nor can I send her what she desires, for I have but 
four reals,' being those you gave me the other day, Sancho, to 
bestow in alms on the poor I should meet with upon the road. 
I gave, accordingly, the four reals to the damsel, and said : ' Sweet- 
heart, tell your lady that I am grieved to my soul at her distresses, 


and wish I were a Fucar **2 to remedy them ; and pray let her 
know that I neither can nor will have health while I want her 
amiable presence and discreet conversation, and that I beseech her, 
with all imaginable earnestness, to vouchsafe to let herself be seen 
and conversed with by her captive servant and bewildered knight. 
Tell her that, when she least thinks of it, she will hear it said that 
I have made an oath and vow, like that made by the marquis of 

*^ This was the patronymic of a family of Swiss extraction settled at Augsburg, 
where it lived like the Medici at Florence. The wealth of the Fucars became 
proverbial, and we are told that when Charles V., on his return from Tunis, 
sojourned under their roof at Augsburg, his fire was lighted with a note of hand for 
a considerable sura of money due to the Fucars from the imperial treasury, and that, 
when lighted, it was fed with cinnamon wood. Branches of this family settled in 
Spain, where they worked the silver mines of Hornachos and of Guadalcanal, the 
quicksilver mine of Almadén, etc. The street in whicli they resided at Madrid ia 
still called Calle de ha Fúcares. 


Mantua to revenge his nephew Baudouin, when he found him ready 
to expire in the mountain, which was, not to eat bread upon a table- 
cloth, with the other penitences that he added, till he had revenged 
his death. In Hke manner will I take no rest, but traverse the seven 
parts of the universe, with more punctuality than did the Infante 
Don Pedro of Portugal **3, till she be disenchanted.' — * All this, 
and more your worship owes my lady,' answered the damsel, and 
taking the four reals, instead of making me a courtesy, she cut a 
caper full two yards high in the air." 

" Holy Virgin ! " cried Sancho, at this juncture ; " is it possible 
that enchanters and enchantments should have power to change 
my master's good understanding into so extravagant a madness ! O ! 
Sir, Sir, for God's sake look to yourself, and stand up for your 
honour, and give no credit to these vanities, which have diminished 
and decayed your senses." — " It is your love of me, Sancho, makes 
you talk at this rate," said Don Quixote ; " and, not being expe- 
rienced in the things of the world, you take every thing in which 
there is the least difficulty, for impossible. But the time will come, 
as I said before, when I shall tell you some other of the things I have 
seen below, which will make you give credit to what I have now 
told you, the truth of which admits of no reply or dispute." 

4^ The narrative of the pretended voyages of the Infante Don Pedro was written 
by Gomez de Santisteban, who called himself one of his twelve companions. 






ID Hamet Ben-Engeli the author 
of this grand history, when he came 
to the chapter containing the adven- 
ture of the cavern of Montesinos, 
wrote, according to the translator, on 
the margin of the page the following words : " I cannot persuade 
myself or believe that all that is mentioned in the foregoing chapter 
happened to the valorous Don Quixote exactly as it is there 
written. My reason is, because all the adventures hitherto related 
might have happened and are probable ; but with regard to this of 
the cavern, I find no possibility of its being true, as it exceeds all 
reasonable bounds. But to think that Don Quixote, being a 
gentleman of the greatest veracity and a knight of the most worth 
of any of his time, would tell a lie, is equally impossible ; he would 
not utter a falsehood, though he were to be shot to death with 
arrows. On the other hand, I consider that he told it with all the 
aforesaid circumstances, and that he could not, in so short a space, 
have framed so vast an assemblage of extravagancies. If this 
adventure seems to be apocryphal, I am not in fault, and, without 
affirming it to be true or false, I write it. Since, reader, you have 
discernment, judge as you see fit, for I neither ought nor can do 
any more. Though it is held for certain that, upon his death-bed, 
Don Quixote retracted, and said he had invented it only because 


it was of a piece, and squared with the adventures he had read of 
in his histories." That said, the historian continues as follows : — 

The cousin was astonished no less at the boldness of Sancho 
Panza, than at the patience of his master, judging that the mildness 
of temper he then shewed sprung from the satisfaction he had just 
received in seeing his mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, though en- 
chanted ; for, had it not been so, Sancho said such words and things 
to him as richly deserved a cudgelling. In reality, the cousin thought 
Sancho had been a little too saucy with his master, to whom he 
said : " For my part, Signor Don Quixote, I reckon the pains of 
my journey in your worship's company very well bestowed, I having 
thereby gained four things : the first, your worship's acquaintance, 
which I esteem a great happiness ; the second, my having learned 
what is enclosed in this cavern of Montesinos, with the transformation 
of the Guadiana and the lagunes of Ruidera, which will serve for 
the Spanish Ovid I have now in hand ; the third, to have learned 
the antiquity of card-playing, which was in use at least in the days 
of the emperor Charlemagne, as may be gathered from the words 
your worship says Durandarte spoke, when, at the end of Monte- 
sinos' long discourse he awaked, saying : * Patience, and shuffle the 
cards.' This expression, in allusion to cards, he could not learn 
during his enchantment, but when he was in France, and in the 
days of the said emperor Charlemagne. This discovery vdll come in 
pat for the other book I am composing, entituled Supplement to 
Virgil Polydore on the invention of antiquities. I believe he has 
forgot to insert that of cards in his work, which I will now include 
in mine ; it will, moreover, be of great importance, especially as I 
shall allege the authority of so grave and true an author as Signor 
Durandarte 4**. The fourth, is the knowing with certainty the 
source of the river Guadiana, hitherto completely unknown." " You 
are perfectly right," said Don Quixote ; " but I would fain know, 
if by the grace of God a licence be granted you to print your books. 

*^ Cards, which were invented in France during the illness of Charles VI., were 
at first marked with the initials N. P., meaning the name of their inventor, 
Nicholas Pepin. Hence, according to Covarrubias, comes their Spanish name of 



which I doubt *^5^ ^q whom you intend to inscribe them." — " There 
are lords and grandees enough in Spain, to whom they may be 
dedicated," said the cousin. " Not many," answered Don Quixote, 
** not because they do not deserve a dedication, but because they 
will not receive one, to avoid lying under any obligation of making 
such a return as seems due to the pains and complaisance of their 
authors. I know a prince who makes amends for what is wanting 
in the rest with so many advantages that, if I durst presume to 
pubhsh them, perhaps I might stir up envy in several noble 
breasts **^. But let this rest till a more convenient season, and let 
us now consider where we shall lodge to-night." — "Not far 
hence," answered the cousin, " is a hermitage, in which lives a 
hermit, who, they say, has been a soldier, and who has the reputation 

*•* In Cervantes' time, it was very difficult to procure a licence to print a book. 
Doctor Aldrete, who printed at Uomc^ in 1606, his learned treatise: Origen y 
principio de la lengua Castellana, says, in the prologue addressed to Philip III., that, 
for certain reason», all licences for printing new books were at that time suspended 
in Spain. 

**" Cervantes here alludes to his patron, the Count of Lemos, to whom he 
dedicated the second part of Don Quixote. 


of being a good christian, and very discreet and charitable 
withal. Adjoining to the hermitage he has a little house, built at 
his own cost ; but, though small, it is large enough to receive guests." 
— " Has this same hermit any poultry ? " asked Sancho. " Few 
hermits are without," answered Don Quixote, " for those in fashion 
now-a-days are not like those in the deserts of Egypt, who were 
clad with leaves of the palm-tree, and lived upon roots of the earth. 
But do not understand that, because I speak well of the latter, I 
reflect upon the former ; I only mean that the penances of our times 
do not come up to the austerities and strictness of those practised 
by the ancients ; but this is no reason why they should not all be 
virtuous. At least I take them to be so, and, at the worst, the 
hypocrite who feigns himself good does less hurt than the undis- 
guised sinner." 

While they were thus discoursing, they perceived a man on foot 
coming towards them, walking very fast, and switching forwards a 

mule laden with lances and halberds. When he came up to them, 
he saluted them and passed on. Don Quixote said : " Hold, 
honest friend ; methinks you go faster than is convenient for that 
mule." — " I cannot stay, Signor," answered the man, " for the 


«rms you see I am carrying are to be made use of to-morrow ; so 
that I am under a necessity not to stop : therefore adieu. But, if 
you would know for what purpose I carry them, I intend to lodge 
this night at the inn beyond the hermitage, and if you travel the 
same road, you will find me there, where I will tell you wonders ; 
once more, God be with you." Thereupon he pricked on the mule, 
at such a rate that Don Quixote had no time to enquire what 
wonders they were he designed to tell them. As he was not a 
little curious, and always tormented with the desire of hearing new 
things, he gave orders for their immediate departure, resolving to 
pass the night at the inn, without touching at the hermitage, where 
the cousin would have had them lodge. This was done accordingly. 
They mounted, and all three took the direct road to the inn. The 
cousin desired Don Quixote to make a step to the hermitage to 
drink one draught, which Sancho no sooner heard than he turned 
his ass*s head in that direction, and his example was followed by 
Don Quixote and the cousin. But Sancho's ill luck, it seems, would 
have it that the hermit was not at home, as they were told by an 
under hermit *'*7, whom they found in the hermitage. They asked 
her for the dearest wine. She answered that her master had no wine, 
but, if they wanted cheap water, she would give them some with all 
her heart. " If I had wanted water," answered Sancho, " there are 
wells enough upon the road, whence I might have satisfied myself. 
O for the wedding of Camacho, and the plenty of Don Diego's 
house I how often shall I regret you ! " 

They quitted the hermitage and spurred on towards the inn. 
They presently overtook a lad who was walking before them in no 
great haste. He carried a sword upon his shoulders, and upon it 
a roll or bundle, seemingly of his clothes, in all likelihood breeches 
or trowsers, his cloak and and a shirt or two. He had on a 
tattered velvet jacket lined with satin, and his shirt hung out. His 
stockings were of silk, and his shoes square-toed after the court- 
fashion. He seemed to be about eighteen or nineteen years of 
age, of a cheerful countenance, and in appearance very active in the 

**^ Una tota ermitaño. A humourous designation for the hermit's servant, the 
hermit being the lieutenant. 


body. He went on singing Seguidillas to divert the fatigue of the 

journey ; and when they overtook him, he had just done singing 
one, the last words of which the cousin got by heart and were 

these : 

" For want of pence to the wars I must go ; 
Ah ! had I but money, it would not be so." 
The first who spoke to him was Don Quixote : " You travel 
very airily, young spark," said he ; " pray, whither so fast ? let us 
know, if you are inclined to tell us." " My walking so airily," 
answered the youth, " is occasioned by the heat and by poverty ; 
and I am going to the wars." — " How by poverty?" demanded Don 
Quixote ; " by the heat it may very easily be." — " Sir," replied 
the youth, '* I carry in this bundle a pair of velvet trowsers, 
fellows to this jacket : if I wear them out upon the road, I cannot 
do myself credit with them in the city, and I have no money to 


buy others. For this reason, as well as for coolness, I go thus, 
till I come up with some companies of foot, which are not twelve 
leagues hence, where I will enHst myself. I shall not then want 
baggage-conveniences to ride in till we come to the place of 
embarkation, which they say is Carthagena ; I choose the king for 
my master and lord, because I would rather serve him in the war 
than any paltry fellow at court." — "And pray, sir, have you a 
ventaja ^^^^ ? " asked the cousin. " Had I served some grandee, or 
other person of distinction," answered the youth, "no doubt I 
should. In the service of good masters, it is no uncommon thing 
to rise from the page's table to the post of ensign or captain, or to 
get some good pension. But poor I was always in the service of 
strolling fellows or foreigners, whose wages and board-wages are 
so miserable and slender that one half is spent in paying for 
starching a ruff. It would be looked upon quite as a miracle, if 
one page-adventurer in a hundred should get any tolerable 
preferment." — " But tell me, firiend," asked Don Quixote, " is it 
possible that, in aU the times you have been in service, you could 
not procure a livery ?" — " I had two," answered the page ; "but, as 
he who quits the monastery before he professes is stripped of his 
habit, and his old clothes are returned him, just so my masters did 
by me, and gave me back mine ; for, when the business for which 
they came to court was terminated, they returned to their own 
homes, and took back the Uveries they had given only for show."— 
" A notable meanness, truly ! " cried Don Quixote. " However, look 
upon it as an earnest of good fortune that you have quitted the 
court with so good an intention. In effect, there is nothing upon 
earth more honourable or more advantageous than first to serve 
God, and then your king and natural lord, especially in the 
exercise of arms, by which one acquires at least more honour, if 
not more riches, than by letters, as I have often said. Though 
letters may have founded more great families than arms, still there 
is I know not what that exalts those who follow arms above those 
who follow letters. Bear in mind this piece of advice, which 
will be of great use to you, and matter of consolation in your 

** Tins means a supplementary pay granted to soldiers born in the army, who 
were called aventajadot ; but who, in recent times, have been superseded by Cadets. 


distresses : it is, not to reflect at all upon what adverse accidents 
may happen. The worst that can happen is death, and, when 
death is attended with honour, the best that can happen is to die. 
The valorous Roman emperor Julius Caesar, being asked which 
was the best kind of death, answered : * That which is sudden, 
unexpected and unforeseen.' Though he answered like a heathen 
and a stranger to the knowledge of the true God, nevertheless, 
with respect to human infirmities, he said well. Supposing you 
are killed in the first skirmish or action, either by a cannon-shot or 
the blowing up of a mine, what does it signify ? all is but dying, 
and the business is done. According to Terence, the soldier 
makes a better figure dead in battle than alive and safe in flight, 
and the good soldier gains just as much reputation as he shews 

obedience to his captains, and to those who have a right to com- 
mand him. Observe, my son, that a soldier had better smell of 
gunpowder than of musk, and if old age overtake you in this noble 
profession, though lame, maimed and covered with wounds, at 


least it will not overtake you without honour, and such honour as 
poverty itself cannot deprive you of. Besides, care is now taken 
to provide for the maintenance of old and disabled soldiers, who 
ought not to be dealt with as many do by their negro slaves when 
they are old and past service, whom they discharge and set at 
liberty, and, driving them out of their houses under pretence of 
giving them their freedom, make them slaves to hunger, from 
which nothing but death can deliver them. At present I will say 
no more ; but get up behind me upon my horse till we come to 
the inn ; there you shall sup with me, and to-morrow morning 
pursue your journey ; and God give you as good speed as your 
good intentions deserve." 

The page did not accept of the invitation to ride behind Don 
Quixote, but did that of supping with him at the inn ; and here it 
is said that Sancho muttered to himself : " God bless my master ! 
how is it possible that one who can say so many and such good 
things as he has now done, should say he saw the extravagant 
impossibilities he tells us of the cavern of Montesinos ? Well, we 
shall see what will come of it." Shortly afterwards they arrived 
at the inn, just at night-fall, and Sancho was pleased to see his 
master take it for an inn indeed, and not for a castle as heretofore. 

They were scarcely entered, when Don Quixote asked the 
landlord for the man with the lances and halberds. The host 
answered that he was in the stable, looking after his mule. The 
cousin and Sancho did the same by their beasts, giving Rocinante 
the best manger and the best place in the stable. 





— ^ ON Quixote's cake was dough, as 

the saying is, till he could hear 
and learn the wonders promised 
Y^ to be told him by the conductor 
I 1 of the arms. He went in quest 
of him where the innkeeper told 
him he was, and, having found 
him, desired him by all means 
to narrate what he had promised 
in answer to his, Don Quixote's 
enquiries. The man answered: 
" The account of my wonders 
must be taken more at leisure, 
and not on foot. Suffer me, good Sir, to make an end of taking care 
of my beast ; I will then tell you things which will amaze you." 
" Let not that be any hindrance," answered Don Quixote, " for I 
will help you." And he immediately began winnowing the barley 
and cleaning the manger, a piece of humility which obliged the man 
readily to tell him what he desired. Having seated himself upon 
a stone bench without the inn-door, with Don Quixote by his side, 
the cousin, the page, Sancho Panza and the inn-keeper serving as 
his senate and auditory, he began as follows : 

" You must understand, gentlemen, that, in a village four leagues 
and a half from this city, it happened that a regidor '^^^ through the 
artful contrivance (too long to be told) of a wench his maid servant, 
lost his ass, and though the said regidor used all imaginable dili- 

^'■> A municipal officer, magistrate. ^ 



gence to find him, it was not possible. Fifteen days were passed, 
as public fame says, since the ass was missing, when the losing 
regidor being in the market-place, another regidor of the same 
town said to him : * Give me my fees ^^^, gossip, for your ass has 
appeared.' — '^Most willingly, neighbour,' answered the other, * but 
let us know where he has been seen.' — * In the mountain wood,' 

answered the finder ; * I saw him this morning without a pannel, or 
any kind of furniture about him, and so lank that it would grieve 
one to see him. I would fain have driven him before me, and 
brought him to you, but he is already become so wild that, when 
I went near him, away he galloped, into the most intricate part of 
the wood. If you have a mind we should both go to seek him, let 
*"• Albricias, a present made to the bearer of good news. 


me but put up this ass at home, and I will return instantly/ * Yott 
will do me a great pleasure,' answered the master of the ass, * and 
I will endeavour to pay you in the same coin.' With all these 
circumstances and after the very same manner that I have related 
it to you, is the story told by all who are acquainted with the 
truth of the affair. In short, the two regidors, on foot, and hand 
in hand, went into the wood ; but when they came to the place where 
they thought to find the ass, they found him not, nor was he to be 
discovered anywhere about, though they searched diligently after him. 
Perceiving then that he was not to be found, the regidor that had seen 
him said to the other : * Hark you, gossip ; a device has just come 
into my head, whereby we shall assuredly discover this animal, though 
he were crept into the bowels of the earth, not to say of the wood. 
I can bray to admiration, and if you can do so never so little, conclude 
the business done.' — ' Never so little, say you, neighbour ? ' replied 
the other. * Before God, I yield the precedence to none, no, not 
to asses themselves.' — * We shall see that immediately,' continued 
the second regidor, for I propose that you shall go on one side of 
the mountain and I on the other, and so we will traverse and 
encompass it quite round. Every now and then, you shall bray 
and so will I, and the ass will most certainly hear and answer us, if 
he be in the wood.' — * In truth, neighbour,' answered the master of 
the ass, ' the device is excellent, and worthy of your great ingenuity. 
Parting immediately, according to agreement, it fell out that they 
both brayed at the same instant, and each of them, deceived 
by the braying, ran to seek the other, thinking he had found 
the ass. When they came in sight of each other, the loser said : 

* Is it possible, gossip, that it was not my ass that brayed ?' — * No it 
was I,' answered the other. * I tell you then,' said the owner, 

* that there is no manner of difference, as to the braying part, between 
you and an ass, for in my life I never saw or heard anything more 
natural.' — ' These praises and compliments,' answered the author 
of the stratagem, * belong rather to you than to me, gossip. By 
the God that made me, you can give the odds of two brays to the 
greatest and most skilful brayer in the world. The tone of your 
bray is deep, the sustaining of your voice in time and measure, and 



your cadences frequent and quick ; in short, I own myself van- 
quished, and yield up the palm of this rare ability.' — * I say,* 
answered the owner, ' I shall value and esteem myself the more 
henceforward, and shall think I know something, since I have some 
excellence ; for, though I fancied I brayed well, I never flattered 
myself I came up to the pitch you are pleased to say.' * I tell you,' 
answered the second, ^ there are rare abilities lost in the world, and 
ill bestowed on those who know not how to employ them to advan- 
tage.' — * Ours,' returned the owner, * excepting in cases like the 
present, cannot be of service to us; even in this, God grant they 
prove of some benefit.' That said, they separated again, and 
recommenced their braying ; but at every turn they deceived each 
other, and met again, till they agreed, as a countersign, to distinguish 
their own brayings from those of the ass, that they should bray 
twice together, one immediately after the other. Thus redoubling 
their brayings, they made the tour of the mountain, without 
eliciting any answer from the stray ass. How, indeed, could the 
poor creature answer, seeing that they found it in the tliickest of 

the wood, half devoured by wolves. When the owner saw liim 


* I wondered indeed,' said he, * that he did not answer ; for, had 
he not been dead, he would have brayed at hearing us, or he were 
no ass. Nevertheless, gossip, I esteem the pains I have been at in 
seeking him to be well bestowed, though I have found him dead, 
since I have heard you bray with such a grace.' — * it is in a good 
hand *, gossip,' answered the other ; ' for if the curate sings well» 
the chorister-boy comes not far behind him.' Hereupon they 
returned home, disconsolate and hoarse, and recounted to their 
friends, neighbours and acquaintance, all that had happened in the 
search after the ass; each of them exaggerating the other's 
excellence in braying. The story spread all over the adjacent 
villages. Now the devil, who sleeps not, as he loves to sow and 
promote squabbles and discord wherever he can, and to sow the 
air with straws, so brought it about that the people of other 
villages, upon seeing any of the folks of ours would presently 
begin braying, thus as it were throwing in our face the braying of 
our regidors. The boys have taken it up, which is worse than 
putting it into the hands and mouths of all the devils in hell, and 
thus braying spread from one town to another, insomuch that the 
natives of the braying village are as well known as white folks are 
distinguished from black. This unhappy jest has gone so far, that 
the mocked have often sallied out in arms against the mockers, and 
given them battle, without king or justice, fear or shame, being 
able to prevent it. To-morrow, I believe, or next day, those of 
our village, the brayers, will take the field against the people of 
another village, about two leagues from ours, being one of those 
which persecute us most. In order to be well provided for them, 
I have brought the lances and halberds you saw me carrying. 
These are the wonders I said I would tell you ; if you do not 
think them such, I have no other for you»" And the honest man 
ended his story. 

At this juncture there came in at the door of the inn a man clad 
from head to foot in shamois leather, hose, doublet and breeches, 
and said with a loud voice : " Master host, have you any lodging ? 
for here come the divining ape, and the puppet-show of Melisai^dra's 

* Alluding to the civility of complimenting one another to drink first. 


deliverance." — " Body of me ! " cried the innkeeper, " what ! 
master Peter here ! we shall have a brave night of it." I had 
forgotten to tell you that this same master Peter had his left eye 
SLttd almost half his cheek covered with a patch of green taffeta, a 

sign that something ailed that side of his face. "Welcome, 
master Peter ! " continued the host ; " where are the ape and the 
puppet-show ? I do not see them." — " They are hard by," answer- 
ed the shamois man ; " I came before to see if there be any lodging 



to be had." — " I would turn out the duke of Alva himself, to 
make room for master Peter," answered the innkeeper. " Let the 
ape and the puppets come, for there are guests this evening in the 
inn who will pay for seeing the show and the abilities of the ape," 
— " So be it," answered the man with the patch ; " I will lower 
the price, and reckon myself well paid with only bearing my 
charges. I will go back, and hasten the cart with the ape and the 
puppets." So saying, he went out of the inn. 

Don Quixote now asked the landlord who this master Peter 
was, and what puppets and what ape he had with him. " He is a 
famous puppet-player," replied the landlord, *'who has been a 
long time going up and down thesejparts of la Mancha in Arragon, 
with a show of Melisandra and the famous Don Gaiferos, which is 
one of the best stories and the best performed that have been seen 
hereabouts for these many years. He has also an ape, whose 
talents exceed those of all other apes, and even those of men. If 
any question is asked him, he listens to it attentively, leaps upon his 
master's shoulder, and, putting his mouth to his ear, he tells him the 

answer : which answer master Peter presently repeats aloud. He 
tells much more concerning things past than things to come, and, 
though he does not always hit right, yet for the most part he is not 
much out, so that we are inclined to believe he has the devil within 
him. He has two reals for each question if the ape answers, I mean 
if his master answers for him, after the ape has whispered him in the 
ear. Therefore, it is thought that this same master Peter must be 
very rich. He is a, very gallant man, as they say in Italy, a boon 



companion, and lives the merriest life in the world. He talks 
more than six, drinks more than a dozen, and all this at the 
expense of his tongue, his ape and his puppets." 

By this time master Peter was returned, and, in the cart, came 
the puppets and a large ape without a tail, but not ill-favoured. 


Don Quixote no sooner espied him than he asked him : " Master 
diviner, pray tell me what peje pigliamo ^^^ ? what will be our 
fortune ? See, here are my two reals." He then told Sancho to 
give them to master Peter, who, answering for the ape, said: 
"Signor, this animal makes no answer and does not give any 
information as to things future ; he knows something of the past, 

**' What fish have we here ? an Italian expression put by Cervantes into Don 
Quixote's mouth. 




and a little of the present." — *' Odds-bobs," cried Sancho, "I 
would not give a brass farthing to be told what is past of myself; 
for who can tell that better than myself ? and for me to pay for 
what I know already would be a very great folly. But since 
he knows things present, here are my two reals, and let the 
goodman ape tell me what my wife Ter esa Panza is doing, and 
what she is employed about." Master Peter wouIH not take 
the money. "I will not be paid beforehand," said he, "nor 
take your reward till I have done you the service," and giving 
with his right hand two or three claps on his left shoulder, 
at one spring the ape jumped upon it, and, laying its mouth 
to his ear, grated its teeth, and chattered apace. Having made 
this grimace for the space of a credo, at another skip down it 
jumped on the ground. Then master Peter ran and kneeled 
before Don Quixote, and, embracing his legs : " These legs I 

embrace," cried he, " as if I embraced the two pillars of Hercules, 
O illustrious revive r of the long-forgotten order of chivalry ! 
O never-suíRciently-extolled knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha ! 
Thou spirit to the faint-hearted, stay to those that are falling, 
arm to those that are already fallen, staif and comfort to all that 
are unfortunate ! " 

Don Quixote was thunderstruck, Sancho in suspense, the cousin 
surprised, the page astonished, the braying-man all agape, the 


innkeeper confounded, and lastly, the hair of all that heard 
the expressions of the puppet-player stood on end. The latter 
continued, quite unconcerned : " And thou, O good Sancho Panza, 
the best squire to the best knight in the world, rejoice ; thy good 
wife Teresa is well, and this very hour is dressing a pound of flax, 
by the same token that she has by her left side a broken-mouthed 
pitcher, which holds a very pretty scantling of wine, with which she 
cheers her spirits at her- work." — "I verily believe it," answered 
Sancho, "for she is a blessed one, and, were she not a little jealous, 
I would not change her for the giantess Andandona, who, in my 
master's opinion, was a very accomplished woman and a capital 
manager ; and my Teresa is one of those who will make much 
of themselves, though it be at the expense of their heirs." 
— " Well " cried ^on Quixote, " I nowaffirmjtheit he who reads 
much and travels much sees much and knows much. What, indeed, 
could have been sufficient to persuade me, that there are apes in 
the world that can divine, as I have now seen with my own 
eyes ? Yes, I am that very Don Quixote de la Mancha that this 
good animal has said, though he has expatiated a little too much 
in my commendation. But, such as I am, I give thanks to 
Heaven that endued me with a tender and compassionate disposi- 
tion of mind, always inclined to do good to every body and hurt 
nobody." — " If I had money," said the page, " I would ask master 
ape what will befal me in my intended expedition." — " I have already 
told you," answered master Peter, who was already got up from 
kneeling at Don Quixote's feet, "that this little beast does 
not answer as to things future. If he really did answer such 
questions, it would be no matter whether you had money or not, 
for, to serve signor Don Quixote here present, I would waive all 
advantages in the world. And now, because itisjny^duty, and to 
do him a pleasure besides, I intend to put in order my puppet- 
show and entertain all the folks in the inn gratis." The innkeeper 
hearing this, above all measure overjoyed, pointed out a convenient 
place for setting up the show, which was done in an instant. 

Don Quixote was not entirely satisfied wtth the iipe's divinations, 
not thinking it likely that an ape should divine things either 



future or past. So, while master Peter was preparing his show, he 
drew Sancho aside to a corner of a stable, where, without being 
overheard by anybody, he said to him: "Look you, Sancho, I 
have carefully considered the strange talent of this ape, and, by 
my account, I find that master Peter, his owner, must doubtless 
have made a tacit or express pact with the devil." — " Nay " said 
Sancho, " if the pack be express from the devil it must needs be 
a very sooty pack. But what advantage would it be to this same 
master Peter to have such a pack ? " — "You do not understand me 
Sancho," replied Don Quixote ; " I only mean that he must certain- 
ly have made some agreement with the devil to infuse his ability 
into the ape, whereby begets his bread; and, after he is become 
rich, he will give him his soul, which is what the universal enemy 
of mankind aims at. What induces me to this belief, is finding 
that the ape answers only as to things past or present, and the 
knowledge of the devil extends no farther. He knows the future 
only by conjecture, and not always that ; for it is the prerogative 
of God alone to know times and seasons; to him nothing is past 
or future ; every thing is present. This being so, as it really is, 
it is plain the ape talks in the style of the devil, and I wonder he 
has not been accused before the inquisition, and compelled by 
torture, to confess by what power he divines. Certain it is 
that this ape is no astrologer, and neither his master nor he know 
how to raise one of those figures called judiciary ^^^^ which are 
now SQ much in fashion in Spain that there is not a servant-maid, 
page, or cobbler but presumes to raise a figure, as if it were a card 
from the ground, thus destroying by their lying and ignorant 
pretences the wonderful truth of the science. I know a certain 
lady who asked one of these figure-raisers whether a little lap-dog 
she had would breed, and how many and of what colour the puppies 
would be. To which master astrologer, after raising a figure. 

'"'^ Alzar or levantar figuras judiciarias. According to Covarrubias, this was the 
astrological term for the method of determining the position of the twelve signs of 
the zodiac, of the planets and the fixed stars, at a given moment, in order to cast 
an horoscope. 


answered that the bitch would pup, and have three whelps, one 

green, one carnation, and the other mottled, provided that she proved 
with young between the hours of eleven and twelve at noon or 
night, and that it were on a Monday or a Saturday. Now it 
happened, that the bitch died two days after of a surfeit, and 
master figure -raiser had the repute in the town of being as con- 
summate an astrologer as the rest of his brethren." — " For all that," 
answered Sancho, " I wish your worship would desire master Peter 
to ask his ape whether all be true which befel you in the cave of 
Montesinos, because, for my own part, begging your worship's 
pardon, I take it to be all sham and lies, or at least a dream." — 
" It may be so," answered Don Quixote : *' but I will do what you 
advise me, since I myself begin to have some kind of scruples 
about it." 

Here they were interrupted by master Peter, who came to tell 
Don Quixote that the show was ready, desiring he would come to 
see it, for it was well worth the trouble. Don Quixote communi- 


cated to him his thought, and desired him to ask his ape whether 
certain things which befell him in the cavern of Montesinos were 
dreams or realities, since they seemed to him to be a mixture of 
both. Master Peter, without answering a word, went and fetched 
his ape, and, placing him before Don Quixote and Sancho : " Look 
you, master ape," said he ; " this knight would know whether 
certain things which befell him in a cavern called that of Monte- 
sinos were real or imaginary." Then making the usual signal, the 
ape leaped upon his left shoulder, and seeming to chatter to him in 
his ear, master Peter presently said : " The ape says that of all 
the things your worship saw, or which befell you, in the said cavern, 
part are false, and part likely to be true. This is what he knows, 
and no more, as to this question. But, if your worship has a mind to 
put any more to him, on Friday next he will answer to every thing you 
shall ask him. His virtue is at an end for the present, and will not 
return till that time." — " Did not I tell you," cried Sancho, " it 
could never go down with me that all your worship said touching 
the adventures of the cavern was true, nor even half." — " The 
event will show that, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, *' for time, 
the discoverer of all things, brings every thing to light, though it 
should lie hidden in the bowels of the earth. But enough for 
the present ; let us go see honest master Peter's show, for I am of 
opinion there must be some novelty in it." — " How, some ! " 
exclaimed master Peter ; "sixty thousand novelties are contained 
in this puppet-show of mine. I assure you, signor Don Quixote, 
it is one of the top things to be seen that the world affords at this 
day, and operibus credite, non verbis. Let us now to work, for it 
grows late, and we have a great deal to do, to say and to show. 

Don Quixote and Sancho obeyed, and came where the show was 
set out, stuck round with little lighted wax candles that gave it a 
resplendent appearance. Master Peter, who was to manage the 
figures, placed himself behind the show, and before it stood his 
boy, to serve as an interpreter and expounder of the mysteries of 
the piece. He held a white wand in his hand, to point to the 
several figures as they entered. All the folks in the inn being 
placed, some standing opposite to the show, and Don Quixote, 



Sancho, the page and the cousin seated in the best places, the 
dragoman began to say what will be heard or seen by those 
who will be at the pains of hearing or seeing the following 





YRIANS and Trojans 
were all silent '^^^ ; I 
mean, that all the 
spectators of the show 
hung upon the mouth 
of the declarer * of 
its wonders, when 
from within the scene 
they heard the sound 
of a number of drums 

and trumpets, and 

several discharges of artillery, which noise was soon over. Then 
the little boy raised his voice and said : " This true history, here 
represented to you, gentlemen, is taken word for word from the 

"^^ A burlesque imitation of the first verse of the second book of the ^Eneid, 
Conticuere omnes, etc. 
* Narrantis conjux pendet ah ore viri. Ovid. Epist, 1. v. 30. 


French chronicles and Spanish romances ^ which are in every body's 
mouth, and sung by the boys up and down the streets. It treats 
how Don Gaiferos freed his wife Melisandra, who was a prisoner in 
Spain in the hands of the Moors, in the city of Sansuena, now 
called Saragossa. Behold, here how Don Gaiferos is playing at 
tables, according to the song : 

* Ga'feros now at tables plays. 
Forgetful of his lady dear ''^^.' 

That personage who appears yonder, with a crown on his head and 
a sceptre in his hand, is the emperor Charlemagne, the supposed 
father of Melisandra, who, being vexed to s ee the indolen ce and 
negligence of his son-in-law, comes forth to chide him. Observe 
with what vehemence and earnestness he scolds him ; one would 
think he had a mind to give him half a dozen raps over the pate 
with his sceptre ; there are even authors who say he actually gave 
them, and sound ones too. And, after having said^^ndry things 
about the danger his honour ran in not procuring the liberty of his 
spouse, it is reported he said to him : ' I have told you enough, look 
to it *^^.' Pray observe, gentlemen, hpw the em peror t ^r"s his 
back, and leaves Don Gaiferos in a fret. See him now, impatient 
with choler, flinging about the board in pieces, calling hastily for 
his armour, and desiring Don Orlando his cousin to lend him his 
good sword. Don Orlando refuses to lend it him, offering to bear 
him company in that arduous enterprise ; but the valorous and 
angry Gaiferos will not accept his offer ; on the contrary, he says 

'•■'•* These verses, and those quoted a little farther on, are taken from the romances 
of the Cancionero and from the Silva oj romances, in which latter is related the 
history of Gaiferos and of Melisandi-a. 

^'"'^ This line is repeated in a comic romance composed on the adventure of 
Gaiferos, by Miguel Sanchez, a poet of the seventeenth century. 

Melisendra esta en Sansuena, 
Vos en Paris descuidado ; 
Vos ausente, ella mugía: 
Liarlo US he dicho, miradlo. 



that he alone is able to deliver his spouse, though she were thrust 
down to the centre of the earth ; and hereupon he goes in to arm 
himself in order to set forward immediately. 
^" Now gentlemen, turn your eyes towards that tower which appears 
yonder. You must suppose that it is one of the towers of the 
Alcazar of Saragossa, now called the Aljaferia. That lady, who 
appears at yon balcony in a Moorish habit, is the peerless Melisan- 
dra, casting many a heavy look towards the road that leads to 
France, and fixing her imagination upon the city of Paris and her 
husband, her only consolation in her captivity. Now behold a 
strange incident, the like perhaps never seen. Do you not see yon 
Moor, who, stealing softly along, step by step, with his finger upon 
his mouth, comes behind Melisandra ? Behold how he gives her a 
kiss full on her lips, and the haste she makes to spit and wipe her 
mouth with her white shift-sleeve, and how she laments, and tears 
her beauteous hair in despair, as if that was to blame for the indig- 
nity. Observe that grave Moor in yonder gallery ; he is Marsilio, 
the king of Sansuena, who, seeing the insolence of the Moor, though 
he is a relation of his and a great fcivourite, orders him to be seized 
immediately, and two hundred stripes to be given him, as he is 
led through the most frequented streets of the city, with criers 



before and the alguazils behind. Behold here the officers coming 
out to execute the sentence, almost as soon as the fault is committed, 
for, among the Moors, there is no citation of the party, nor copies 

of the process, nor delay of justice, as among us " — ** Boy, boy," 

here interrupted Don Quixote in a loud voice, " on with your 
story in a straight line, and leave your curves and transversals ; to 
come at the truth of a fact, there is often need of proof upon proof." 
Master Peter also added from within : " Boy, none of your 
flourishes ; but do what the gentleman bids you, for that is the 
surest way ; sing your song plainly, and seek not for counterpoints, 
for they usually crack the strings." — " I will," answered the boy, 
and he forthwith proceeded thus : 

" The figure you see there on horseback, muflled up in a Gascony 
cloak, is Don Gaiferos himself, to whom his spouse, already 
revenged on the impudence of the enamoured Moor, shews herself 
from the battlements of the tower with a calmer and more sedate 



countenance. She talks to her husband, believing him to be some 
passenger; and she holds all that discourse and dialogue in the 
romance which says ; 

* If to gay France your course you bend. 
Let me entreat you, gentle friend. 
Make diligent inquiry there 
For Ga'feros my husband dear.' 

The rest I omit, because length begets loathing. It is sufficient to 
observe how^ Don Gaiferos discovers himself, and by the signs of 
joys Melisandra makes, you may perceive she knovi^s him, especially 
now that you see she lets herself down from the balcony, to get on 
horseback behind her husband. But alas, poor lady ! the skirt of 
her petticoat has caught hold on one of the iron rails of the balcony. 


and there she hangs dangling in the air, without being able to reach 

the ground. But see, how merciful Heaven sends relief in the 
greatest distresses, for now comes Don Gaiferos, and, without 
regarding whether the rich petticoat be torn or not, lays hold of her 
and brings her to the ground by main force ; then, with a spring he 
sets her behind him on his horse, astride like a man, bidding her hold 

very fast, and clasp her arms about his shoulders till tlicy cross and 


meet over his breast, that she may not fall, for the lady Melisandra 
was not -used to that way of riding. See how the horse, by his 
neighings, shews he is pleased with the burthen of his valiant master 
and fair mistress. See how they turn their backs, and go out of 
the city, and how merrily and joyfully they take the way to Paris. 
Peace be with you, O peerless pair of faithful lovers! may you arrive 
in safety at your desired country, without fortune's laying any obstacle 
in the way of your prosperous journey! may the^^^^^f j>^our 
friends and relations behold you enjoy in perfect peace the remain- 
ing days (and may they be like Nestor's) of your lives ! " Here 
again master Peter raised his voice : " Plainness, boy," cried he, " do 
not lose yourself in the clouds ; all affectation is naught." The inter- 
preter continued without making any answer : " There wanted not 
some ^idle e yes, such as espy every thing, to see Melisandra's getting 
down and mounting, of which they gave notice to king Marsilio, 
who immediately commanded to sound the alarm. Pray take notice 
what a hurry they are in, and how the whole city shakes with the 
ringing of bells in the steeples of the mosques." — *' No, no," cried 
Don Quixote, " Master Peter is very much mistaken in the 
business of the bells ; for the Moors do not use bells, but kettle- 
drums, and a kind of dulzaina very much like our clarions ^^^, 
Therefore to introduce the ringing of bells in Sansuena is a great 
absurdity." Master Peter, overhearing Don Quixote's speech, left 
off ringing, and said : ** Signor Don Quixote, do not criticise upon 
trifles, nor expect that perfection which is not to be found in these 
matters. Are there not a thousand comedies acted almost every 
where full of as many improprieties and blunders, and yet they 
run their career with great success, and are listened to, not only with 
applause but with admiration ? Go on boy, and let folks talk ; so 
that I fill my bag, I care not if I represent more improprieties than 
there are motes in the sun." — " You are in the right," replied Don 
Quixote and the boy proceeded : "See what a numerous and brilliant 

^^ The dulzaina, which is still in use in the province of Valencia, is a species of 
crooked instrument, with a very shrill sound. The chirimía (which we translate by 
clarion), another instrument of Arabian origin, is a kind of long hautboy, having 
twelve holes, with a loud and solemn sound. 



body of cavalry sallies out of the city in pursuit of the two catholic 
lovers. Behold how many trumpets sound, how many dulzainas play, 

how many drums and kettle-drums rattle. I fear they will overtake 
them, and bring them back tied to their own horse's tail, which 
would be a lamentable spectacle." 

When Don Quixote saw this numerous cohort of Moors, and 
heard the martial din of the military instruments, he thought it 
would be advisable for him to succour those that fled. Accordingly, 
he rose from his seat and cried in a voice of thunder: " I will 
never consent, while 1 live, that in my presence such an ou trage as 
this be offered to so famous a knight and so daring a lover as Don 
Gaiferos. Hold, base-born rabble, follow not nor pursue after him ; 
if you do, prepare for instant battle." As he spok e, he un sheathed 
his sword, planted himself close to the show, and, with violent and 
unheard-of fury, began to rain hacJ^&aíuLslashes upon the Moorish 
puppets, overthrowing some and beheading others, laming this and 
demolishing that. Among a great many other strokes, he fetched 
one with such force that, if Master Peter had not ducked and 
squatted down, he had chopped off his head with ^ much ease as if 
it had been made of sugar-paste. Master Peter cried out : " Hold, 
Signor Don Quixote, hold, and consider that these figures you 
throw down, maim and destroy, are not real Moors but only 
puppets made of pasteboard ; consider, sinner that I am ! that you 


are undoing me, and destroying my whole livelihood." For all that, 

Don Quixote still laid about him, showering down, doubling, and 
redoubling fore-strokes and back-strokes like hail. In short, in 
less than two credos he demolished the whole machine, hacking to 
pieces all the tackling and figures, king Marsilio being sorely 
wounded, and the head and crown of the Emperor Charlemagne 
cloven in two. The whole audience was in consternation, the ape 
flew to the top of the house ; the cousin was frightened, the page 
daunted, and even Sancho himself trembled mightily; for, as he 
swore after the storm was over, he had never seen his master in so 
outrageous a passion. 


The general demolition of the machinery thus achieved, Don 
Quixote began to be a little calm. " I wish," said he, " I had 
here before me, at this instant, all those who are not and will not 
be convinced of how much benefit knights-err anteare to the world. 
If I had not been present, what would have become of good Don 
Gaiiferos and the fair Melisandra ? Without doubt thesg^dogs 
would have overtaken them by this time, and have offered them 
some indignity. When all this is done, long live knight-errantry 
above all things living in the world!" — " InGod's name, let it live, 
and let me die," said master Peter, at this juncture, with a 
fainting voice, " since I am so unfor tímate thalX-can-say with King 
Rodrigo : * Yesterday I was sovereign of Spain, and to-day have 
not a foot of land I can call my own ^^^ ; ' it is not half an hour 
ago, nor scarce half a minute, since I was master of kings and 
emperors, my stalls full of horses, and my trunks and sacks full of 
fine things. Now I am desolate and dejected, poor and a beggar, 
and, what grieves me most of all, without my ape, who will make 
my teeth sweat for it before I get him again. And all through the 
inconsiderate fury of this Sir knight, who is said to protect orphans, 
redress wrongs and do other charitable deeds. In me alone, 
praised be the highest heavens for it ! his generous intention has 
failed. In fine, it could only be the Knight of the Sorrrowful 
Figure who was destined thus to disfigure me and mine." 

Sancho Panza was moved to compassion by what master Peter 
had spoken. " Weep notmaster Peter," said he, "nor take on so; 
you break my heart ; and I assure you my master Don Quixote is 
so catholic and scrupulous a Christian, that when he comes to 
reflect that he has done you any wrong, he knows how and will 
certainly make you amends with interest." — "If Signer Don 
Quixote," answered master Peter, " would but repay me part of 
the damage he has done me, I should be satisfied, and his worship 
would discharge his conscience ; for nobody can be saved who with- 
holds another's property against his will, and does not make resti- 
tution." — " True," here observed Don Quixote ; " but as yet I do 

*•' A verse of the ancient romance Como perdió a España el rey Don Rodrigo 
(Cancionero general.) 

VOL in. H 


not know that I have any thing of yours, master Peter." — "How! " 
cried master Peter; "what but the invincible force of your 
powerful arm scattered and annihilated these relics, which lie up 
and down on this hard and barren ground? Whose were their 
bodies but mine ? And how did I maintain myself but by them ? " 
— " Now am I entirely convinced," cried Don Quixote at this 
juncture, "of what I have often believed before, that those 
enchanters who persecutejne are perpetually setting shapes before 
me as they really are, and presently putting the change upon me, 
and transforming them into whatever they please. I protest to 
you, gentlemen, that whatever has passed at this time seemed to me 
to pass actually and precisely so. I took Melisandra to be Meli- 
sandra; Don Ga'iferos, Don Gaiferos; Marsilio, Marsilio; and 
Charlemagne, Charlemagne. This it was that inflamed my choler, 
and, in compliance with the duty of my profession as a knight- 
errant, I had a mind to assist and succour those that fled. With 
this good intention I did what you just now saw. If things have 
fallen out the reverse, it is no fault of mine, but of those my wicked 
persecutors. But, notwithstanding this mistake of mine, and 
though it did not proceed from malice, yet will I condemn myself 
in costs. See, master Peter, what you must have for the damaged 
figures, and I will pay it you down in current and lawful money of 
g^t ^y Master Peter made him alow bow. " I expected no less," said he, 
" from the unexampled Christianity of the valorous Don Quixote 
de la Mancha, the true succourer and support of all the needy and 
distressed. Let master innkeeper and the great Sancho be umpires 
and appraisers between your worship and me, and decide what the 
demolished figures are or were worth." The innkeeper and 
Sancho said they would. Then master Peter took up King 
Marsilio minus his head, and said: "You see how impossible 
it is to restore this king to his pristine state. Therefore I 
think, with submission to better judgments, you must award me 
for his death and destruction four reals and a half." — " Granted," 
said Don Quixote ; " proceed." — " Then for this that is cleft from 
top to bottom," continued master Peter, taking up the emperor 


Charlemagne, " I think five reals and a quarter little enough to 
ask." — " Not very little," said Sancho. " Nor very much," replied 
the innkeeper ; " but split the diíFerence, and set him down five 
reals." — "Give him the five and a quarter," said Don Quixote; 
" for in such a notable mischance as this, a quarter more or less is 
not worth standing upon. But make an end, master Peter, for it 
grows towards supper-time, and I have some symptoms of hunger 
upon me." — " For this figure," said master Peter, " wanting a nose 
and an eye, which is the fair Melisandra, I must have two reals and 
twelve maravedís." — " Nay," cried Don Quixote, " the devil must 
be in it if Melisandra be not by this time with her husband at least 
upon the borders of France, for methought the horse they rode 
upon seemed to fiy rather than gallop. Therefore do not pretend 
to sell me a cat for a coney, shewing me here Melisandra, one-eyed 
and noselefss, whereas at this very instant she is enjoying herself 
at leisure with her husband in France. God help every one mth 
his own, master Peter, and let us have plain dealing. Proceed." 
Master Peter, finding that Don Quixote began to warp, and was 
returning to his old bent, had no mind he should escape. " Now I 
think on it," said he, " this is not Melisandra, but one of her waiting- 
maids. So, with sixty maravedís *5^, I shall be well enough paid, 
and very well contented." Thus he went on, setting a price upon 
several broken figures, which the arbitrators afterwards moderated 
to the satisfation of both parties. The whole amounted to forty 
reals and three quarters ; and over and above all this, which Sancho 
immediately disbursed, master Peter demanded two reals for the 
trouble he should have in catching his ape. " Give them, Sancho," 
said Don Quixote, "not for catching the ape, but to catch the 
monkey ^^^ ; and I would give two hundred to any one that could 
tell me for certain that Donna Melisandra and Signor Don Gaiferos 
are at this time in France, and among their friends." — " Nobody 
can tell us that better than my ape," said master Peter. " But the 
devil himself cannot catch him now. I suppose, however, his 

•* There are thirty-four maravédis in a real. 

*^ In fumiliar language, to catch the monkey (iomar or coger la mona), means to 
get drunk. 



affection for me, or hunger, will force him to come to me at night. 
To-morrow is a new day, and we shall see each other again." 

In conclusion, the bustle of the puppet-show passed over, and 
they all supped together in peace and good company at the 
expense of Don Quixote, who was liberal to the last degree. He 
who carried the lances and halberds went off before day; and, 
after it was light, the cousin and the page came to take their 
leave of Don Quixote, the one in order to return home, and the 
other to pursue his intended journey ; to the latter Don Quixote 
gave a dozen reals, to help to bear his charges. Master Peter, 
having no inclination to re-involve himself in any sort of dispute 
with Don Quixote, whom he knew perfectly well, arose before the 
sun, and, gathering up t he fragme nts of his show, and taking his 
ape, away he went in quest of farther adventures. The innkeeper, 
who knew not Don Quixote, was no less astonished at his madness 
than at his liberality. Finally, Sancho paid him handsomely by his 
master's order, and about eight in the morning, bidding him 
farewell, they left the inn and went their way, in which we will 
leave them, in order that we may relate several other things neces- 
sary to the better understanding this famous history. 





this hi 



ID HAMET BEN-ENGELI, the chroni- 
cler of this grand history, begins 
this chapter with these words : "7 
swear as a Catholic Christian.'' To 
which his translator adds that Cid 
Hamet's swearing as a Catholic 
Christian, he being a Moor (as un- 
doubtedly he was), meant nothing 
more than that, as the Catholic 
Christian, when he swears, does or 
ought to speak and swear the truth, 
so did he, in writing of Don Quixote ; 
especially in declaring who master 
Peter was, with some account of the 
divining ape, who surprised all the 
villages thereabouts with his divina- 
says then that whoever has read the former part of 
must needs remember Gines dc Passamonte, to whom, 


among other galley-slaves, Don Quixote gave liberty in the Sierra- 
Morena, a benefit for which afterguards he had small thanks and 
W^orse payment from that mischievious and misbehaving crew. 
This Gines de Passamonte, whom Don Quixote called Ginesillo 
de Parapilla, was the person who stole Sancho Panza's donkey, 
and as, through the neglect of the printers, neither the time nor the 
manner of that theft is described, many people ascribe the error of the 
press to want of memory in the author. In short, stolen he was, by 
Gines, even while Sancho was sitting sleeping on his back, by 
means of the same artifice that was used by Brúñelo, who while 
Sacripante lay at the siege of Albraca, stole his horse from 
between his legs, Sancho subsequently recovered him, as has been 
already related. This Gines then, being afraid of falling into the 
hands of justice, which was in pursuit of him in order to chastise 
him for his numberless rogueries and crimes, (which were so many 
and so flagrant that he himself wrote a large volume of them,) 
resolved to pass over to the kingdom of Arragon ; and covering 
his left eye, he took up the trades of puppet-playing and leger- 
demain, both of which he perfectly understood. Chancing to light 
upon some Christian slaves redeemed from Barbary, he purchased 
from them an ape, which he taught at a certain signal to leap upon 
his shoulder, and seem to mutter something in his ear. This 
done, before he entered any town which he intended to visit wdth 
his show and ape, he informed himself in the next village, or where 
he best could, what particular things had happened in such and 
such a place, and to whom. Bearing them carefully in his memory, 
the first thing he did was to exhibit his show, which was sometimes 
of one story and sometimes of another, but all diverting and well- 
known. The show ended, he used to propound the abilities of his 
ape, telling the people he divined all that was past and present, but 
as to what was to come, he did not pretend to any skill therein. 
He demanded two reals for answering each question, and to some 
he afforded it cheaper, according as he found the pulse of his clients 
beat. And coming sometimes to houses where he knew what had 
happened to the people that lived in them, though they asked no 
question, because they would not pay him, he gave the signal to his 


ape, and presently said, he revealed to him such and such a thing, 
which tallied exactly with what had happened. By this means, he 
gained infallible credit, and was followed by every body. At other 
times, being very cunning, he answered in such a manner that his 
answers came pat to the questions, and, as nobody went about to 
sift or press him to tell how his ape divined, he gulled every body 
and filled his pockets. Directly he entered the inn, he knew Don 
Quixote and Sancho, which made it very easy for him to excite 
the wonder of them both, as well as of all that were present. But 
it would have cost him dear had Don Quixote directed his hand a 
little lower when he cut off King Marsilio's head and destroyed 
all his cavalry, as is related in the foregoing chapter. This is all 
that is necessary to be said respecting master Peter and his ape. 

Returning to Don Quixote de la Mancha, the historian says 
he determined, before he went to Saragossa, first to visit the banks 
of the river Ebro, and all the parts thereabouts, since he had time 
enough and to spare before the jousts began. With this design, 
he pursued his journey, and travelled two days vdthout lighting on 
any thing worth recording. But the third day, as he.js:as going 
up a hill, he heard a great noise of drums, trumpets and guns. 
At first he thought a regiment of soldiers was marching that way, 
and he clapped spurs to Rocinante and ascended the hill to see 
them. When he got to the top, he perceived in the valley beneath 
above two hundred men, armed with various weapons, as spears, 
cross-bows, partisans, halberds and pikes, with some guns and a 
great number of targets. He rode down the hill, and drew so 
near to the squadron that he plainly saw the banners, distin- 
guished their colours and read the devices they bore, especially 
one upon a banner or pennant of white satin. On it there was 
painted to the life the miniature of an ass, holding up its head, its 
mouth open and its tongue out, in the position of an ass braying. 
Around it were written in large characters these two verses : " The 
alcaldes twain brayed not in vain*^^." 

In tlie original — 

No rebuznaron en valde 
El uno y el otro alcalde. 



From this motto, Don Quixote gathered that these folks must 
belong to the braying village, and so he told Sancho, telling him 
also what was written on the banner. He added that the person 
who had given an account of this affair was mistaken in calling the 
two brayers regidors, since, according to the motto, they were two 
alcaldes. " That is neither here nor there, Sir," answered Sancho, 
"for it may very well be that the regidors who brayed, might, in 
process of time, become alcaldes of their village^^^, and therefore 
may properly be called by both of those titles. Though it signifies 
nothing to the truth of the history whether the brayers were 

■**5' The alcaldes are, in fact, elected from among the regidors. 


alcaldes or regidors, so long as they both brayed. An alcalde 
is as likely to bray as a regidor *62" 

Eventually, they found that the people of the derided village 
were sallied forth to attack the other village which had laughed 
at them too much, and beyond what was fitting for good neighbours. 
Don Quixote advanced towards them, to the no small concern of 
Sancho, who never loved to make one in these kinds oi expeditions. 
Those of the squadron received him amongst them, taking him for 
some warrior of their party. Don Quixote, lifting up his vizor 
with an easy and graceful deportment, approache d the ass-banner, 
and all the chiefs of the army gathered about him to look at him, 
struck with the same surprise that every body was the first time of 
seeing him. Don Quixote, seeing them so intent upon looking at 
him, without any one's speaking to him or asking him any question, 
resolved to take advantage of this ,sileiice,"^d, breaking his own, 
he raised his voice and cried : " Brave gentlemen, I earnestly entreat 
you not to interrupt a discourse I shall make to you, till you find it 
disgusts and tires you. If that happen, at the least sign you shall 
make, I shall clap a seal on my lips and a gag upon my tongue." 
They ^11 desired him to say what he pleased, and promised to listen 
to him with a very good will. With this licence Don Quixote 
proceeded; saying " I, gentlemen, am a knight-errant ; my exercise 
is that of arms, and my profession is that of succouring those who 
stand in need of succour, and relieving the distressed. Some days 
ago I heard of your misfortune, and the cause that induces you to 
take arms at every tu rn t o revenge yourselves on your enemies. 
Having often pondered your"&usiness in my mind, I find that, 
according to the laws of duel, you are mistaken in thinking your- 
selves affronted. In effect, no one person can affront all the people 
of a village, unless he do it by accusing them of treason conjointly, 

^2 In the romance of Persiles and Sigismundo (book iii., chap, x.), Cervantes 
relates that an alcalde sent the public crier {pregonero) to fetch two asses to carry 
two vagabonds condemned to be flogged through the streets. ** Signor alcalde," 
said the crier on his return, " I have been unable to find any asses in the market, 
excepting the two regidors Berrueco and Crespo, who are there taking a walk." — " I 
sent you to seek asses, dotard," replied the alcalde, " and not regidors. But return 
and fetch them hither, in order that they may be present at the pronouncing of the 
sentence. It shall not be said that the sentence could not be executed for want of 
; for, thanks to Heaven, there is no scarcity of them in the country." 




as not knowing in particular who committed the treason. An 
example of this we have in Don Diego Ordonez de Lara, who 
challenged the whole people of Zamora, because he did not know 
that Vellido Dolfos alone had committed the treason of killing his 
king. Therefore he challenged them all, and the revenge and answer 
belonged to them all. In good truth, signor Don Diego went 
somewhat too far, and greatly exceeded the limits of challenging ; 
for he needed not have challenged the dead, the waters, the bread, 
or the unborn, nor several other minute matters mentioned in the 
challenge. But let that pass ; for when choler overflows its dam, 
the tongue has no father, governor, nor bridle, to restrain it*^^. This 
being the fact, then, that a single^_^njdÍ3ádiLal.....cannot afíront a 
kingdom, province, city, republic, or a whole town, it is clear there 
is no reason for your marching out to revenge such an affront, since 
it is really none. Would it not be pretty, indeed, if the 
cazalleros^^, the fruiterers *^^, the whalebone-sellers*^^, the soap- 
boilers ^^7, should attempt to dash every body's brains out who 
names them by their trade! Would it not be fine indeed if all 
these notable folks should be ashamed of their businesses, and be 
perpetually taking revenge, and making sackbuts of their swords 
upon any quarrel, though ever so trivial! No, no, God neither 
permits nor wills it. Men of wisdom and well-ordered common- 
wealths ought to take arms, draw their swords and hazard their 

^^^3 The challenge of Don Diego Ordonez, as related in an ancient romance from 
the chronicle of the Cid {Cancionero General)^ is as follows : " Diego Ordonez, issuing 
from the camp in double armour, mounted on a bay-brown horse ; he comes to 
challenge the people of Zamora for the death of his cousin (Sancho the Strong), 
who slew Vellido Dolfos, the son of Dolfos Vellido, I challenge you, people of 
Zamora, as traitors and felons ; I challenge all the dead and with them all the living. 
I challenge men and women, both unborn and born : I challenge both great and 
small, fish and flesh, the waters of the rivers, etc., etc." 

^^* The inhabitants of Valladolid, in allusion to Augustin de Cazalla, who perished 
there on the scaflfold. 

^^ The inhabitants of Toledo. 

466 The inhabitants of Madrid. 

*57 The inhabitants of Getafa, it is believed. 



lives and fortunes, upon four accounts only. First, in the defence 
of the catholic faith; secondly, to defend their lives, which is 
agreeable to the natural and divine law; thirdly, in defence of 
their honour, family or estate; fourthly, in the service of their 
king in a just war; and if we may add a fifth, which may be 
ranked with the second, it is in the defence of their country. To , 
these five capital causes several others might be added, very just 

and very reasonable, and which oblige us to take arms. But to 
have recourse to them for trifles, subjects rather for laughter and 
pastime than for ai&ont, looks like acting against common sense. 
Besides, taking an unjust revenge (and no revenge can be just), is 
acting directly against the holy religion we profess, whereby we 
are commanded to do good to our enemies, and to love those who 


hate us. This precept, though seemingly difficult, is really not so 
to any but those who have less of God than of the world, and more 
of the flesh than of the spirit. Effectively, Jesus Christ, true God 
and man, who never lied nor could lie, and who is our legislator, 
has told us his yoke is easy and his burden light. Therefore 
he would not command us any thing impossible to be performed. 
So that, gentlemen, you are bound to be quiet and pacified by all 
laws both human and divine." — " The devil fetch me," said Sancho 
to himself, " if this master of mine be not a parson ; if not, he is as 
like one as one egg is like another." 

Don Quixote took breath a little, and perceiving that they still 
stood attentive, he had a mind to proceed in his discourse, and had 
certainly done so, had not Sancho's acuteness interposed. Obser- 
ving that his master paused awhile, he took up the cudgels for 
him, saying : " My master Don Quixote de la Mancha, once called 
the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure, and now the Knight of the 
Lions f is a sa^e^gentleman, and understands Latin and the vulgar 
tongue like a bachelor of arts ; in all he handles or advises, he 
proceeds like an expert soldier, having all the laws and statutes of 
what is calle¿diiel at his fingers' ends. So there is no more to 
be done but to govern yourselves by his direction, and I will bear 
the blame if you do amiss. Besides, you are but just told how 
foolish it is to be ashamed to hear one bray. I remember, when 
I was a boy, I brayed as often' as I pleased, without any body 
hindering me, and with such grace, such propriety, that, whenever I 
brayed, all the asses in th e tow n brayed, and for all that, I did not 
cease to be the son of my parents, who were very honest people. 
Though for this rare ability I was envied by more than a few of 
the proudest of my neighbours, I cared not two farthings ; and, to 
convince you that I speak the truth, do but stay and hearken; for 
this science is like that of swimming; once learned it is never 

Then, laying his hands to his nostrils, Sancho beganto bray so 
strenuously, that the adjacent valleys resounded again. But one 
of those who stood close by him, believing he was making a mock 
of them, lifted up a pole he had in his hand, and gave him such a 
blow with it as brought poor Sancho Panza to the ground. Don 



Quixote, seeing Sancho so evil entreated, made at the striker with 
his lance ; but so many interposed, that it was impossible for him 
to be revenged. On the contrary, finding a shower of stones 
come thick upon him, and many cross-bows presented and guns 

levelled at him, he turned Rocinante about, and, as fast as he could 
gallop, got out from among his enemies, praying to God from the 
bottom of his soul to deliver him^from this danger, fearing at 
every step, lest some bullet should enter at his back and come out 
at his breast. And at every moment he fetched his breath, to try 
whether it failed him or not ; but those of the squadron were satis- 
fied with seeing him fly, and did not shoot after him. 
^ As for Sancho, they set him again upon his ass, directly he came 
to himself, and suffered him to follow his master, not that the poor 
squire had sense to guide his donkey, but Dapple naturally followed 
Rocinante'» steps, not enduring to be a moment from liim. Don 
Quixote, having attained some distance from the hostile villagers, 
turned about his head, and, seeing that Sancho followed and that 
nobody pursued him, stopped till he came up. Those of the 



squadron staid there till night, and the enemy not coming forth to 
battle, they returned to their own homes joyful and merry ; and had 
they known the practice of the ancient Greeks, they would have 
erected a trophy on that place. 





NLY foul play or being over- 
matclied can make the valiant 
fly, it being the part of wise 
men to reserve themselves 
for better occasions. This 
truth was verified in Don 
Quixote, who, giving way 
to the fury of the people, 
and to the evil intentions of that resentful squadron, took to his 
heels, and, without bethinking him of Sancho, or of the danger in 
which he left him, got as far on as he deemed sufficient for his 
safety. Sancho followed him athwart his beast, as has been said. 
At last he came up to him, having recovered his senses, and, when he 
overtook his ijiaster, ne fell from his ass at the feet of Rocinante, 
>,wounded, bruised and out ofJ)reath. Don Quixote alighted to 
examine his wounds ; but, finding him whole from head to foot, with 
much choler he said : " In an unlucky hour, Sancho, must you needs 
shew your skill in braying. Where did you learn that it was fitting to 
name a halter in the house of a man that was hanged ? To the music of 
braying, what counterpoint could you expect but that of a cudgel ? 



--■•-V A / /[k\]\ 

Give God thanks, Sancho, that, instead of measuring your back 
with a cudgel, they did not make the 'per signum crucis *^^ on you 
with the blade of a scimitar." — " I am not now in a condition to 
answer," replied Sancho, "for methinks I speak through my 
shoulders. Let us mount, and be gone from this place. As for 
braying, I will have done with it, but I shall not with telling that 
knights-errant fly, and leave their faithful squires to b^e beaten to 
powder by their enemies." — " To retire is not to fly," answered 
Don Quixote ; "for you must know, Sancho, that the valour which 
has not prudence for its basis is termed rashness, and the exploits 
of the rash are ascribed rather to good fortune than their courage. 
I confess I did retire ; but I did not fly. In so doing, I imitated 
sundry valiant persons, who have reserved themselves for better 

^^^ A sear across the face was tlius called. 

PART ir. CHAP. XXVIIf. 73 

times. Of this histories are full of examples, which, being of no 
profit to you, or pleasure to me, I omit at present." 

By this time Sancho was mounted, with the assistance of Don 
Quixote, who likewise got upon Rocinante ; and so, fair and softly, 
they took the way towards a little wood which they discovered about 
a quarter of a league oK Sancho every now and then fetched most 
profound sighs and doleful groans. Don Quixote asking him the 
cause of such bitter moaning, he answered that he was in pain from 
the lowest point of his backbone to the nape of his neck, in such 
manner that he was ready to swoon. "The cause of your pain," 
said Don Quixote, "must doubtless be this: the pole they struck 
you with, being a long one, took in your whole back, where lie all 
the parts that give you pain ; and if it had reached farther, it would 
have pained you more." — "Before God," cried Sancho, "your 
worship has brought me out of a grand doubt, and explained it in 
very fine terms. Body of me ! was the cause of my pain so hidden 
that it was necessary to tell me that I felt pain in all those parts 
which the pole reached ? If my ancles ached, you might not perhaps 
so easily guess why they pained me. But to divine that I am pained 
because beaten, is no great business. In faith, master of mine, 
other men's harms hang by a hair, and I descry land more and 
more every day in the little I am to expect from keeping your 
worship company. If this bout you left me to be beaten, we shall 
return again, and a hundred times again, to our old blanket-tossing 
and other children's games, which, if this time they have fallen upon 
my back, the next they will fall upon my eyes. It would be much 
better for me, but that I am á barbarian and shall never do any 
thing that is right while I live ; I say again it would be much better 
for me to return to my own house, and to my wife and children, to 
maintain and bring them up with the little God shall be pleased to 
give me, and not be following your worship through roads without 
a road, and pathless paths, drinking ill and eating worse. Then 
for sleeping, measure out, brother squire, seven foot of earth, and if 
that is not suflicient, take as many more, for it is in your own power 
to dish up the mess, and stretch yourself out to your heart's content. 
I wish I may sec the first who set on foot knight-errantry burnt to 
VOL. iir. K 



ashes, or at least the first that would needs be squires to such idiots 
as all the knights-errant of former times must have been. I say 
nothing of the present, for, your worship being one of them, I am 
bound to pay them respect, and because I know your worship 
knows a point beyond the devil in all you talk and think." — "I 
would lay a good wager with you, Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
"that, now you are talking on without interruption, you feel 
no pain in all your body. Talk on, my son, all that comes into 
your thoughts and whatever comes uppermost. Provided that 
you feel no pain, I shall take pleasure in the very trouble your 
impertinencies give me; and if you have so great a desire to 
return home to your v^dfe and children, God forbid I should 
hinder you. You have money of mine in your hands, see how long 
it is since we made this third sally from our village, how much you 
could or ought to get each month, and pay yourself." — " When I 
served Thomas Carrasco, father of the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, 
whom your worship knows full well," answered Sancho, " I got two 
ducats a month, besides my victuals. With your worship I cannot 
tell what I may get ; though I am sure it is a greater drudgery to be 
a squire to a knight-errant than servant to a farmer ; for in fine we 
who serve husbandmen, though we labour never so hard in the day- 
time, let the worst come to the worst, at night we have a supper 
from the pot, and we sleep in a bed ; which is more than I have 
done since I have served your worship, excepting the short time we 
were at Don Diego de Miranda's house, the good cheer I had with 
the skimming of Camacho's pots, and while I ate, drank and slept 
at Basilius's house. All the rest of the time I have lain on the 
hard ground, in the open air, subject to what people call the 
inclemencies of heaven, living upon bits of bread and scraps of 
cheese, and drinking water, sometimes from the brook, sometimes 
from the fountain, such as we met with up and down by the 
way." — " Supposing I grant, Sancho," retorted Don Quixote, " that 
all you say is true ; how much think you I ought to give you more 
than Thomas Carrasco gave you? " — " I think," answered Sancho, "if 
your worship adds two reals a month, I shall reckon myself well 
paid. This is to be understood as to wages due for my labour ; but 


as to the promise your worship made of bestowing on me the 
government of an island, it would be just and reasonable you should 
add six reals more, which make thirty in all." — " It is very well," 
replied Don Quixote. " According to the wages you have allotted 
yourself, it is five and twenty days since we sallied from our town ; 
reckon, Sancho, in proportion, see what I owe you, and pay yourself, 
as I have already said, with your own hand." — " Body of me ! " 
cried Sancho, " your worship is clean out in the reckoning. With 
regard to the business of the promised island, we must compute 
from the day you promised me to the present hour." — "Well, and 
how long is it since I promised this island to you ? " replied Don 
Quixote. " If I remember right," continued Sancho, "it is about 
twenty years and three days, more or less." Don Quixote gave 
himself a good clap on the forehead with the palm of his hand, 
and began to laugh very heartily. " Why," said he, "my rambling 
up and down the Sierra Morena, with the whole series of our 
perigrinations, scarce took up two months, and say you, Sancho, it 
is twenty years since I promised you the island ? Well, I perceive 
you have a mind your wages should swallow up all the money you 
have of mine. If such be your desire, from henceforward I give it 
you, and much good may it do you, for so I get rid of so worthless 
a squire, I shall be glad to be left poor and penniless. But tell 
me, perverter of the squirely ordinances of knight-errantry, where 
have you seen or read that any squire to a knight-errant ever 
presumed to article with his master, and say * I must have so much 
or so much per month for my services ? ' Launch out, launch out, 
you bandit, vagabond and hobgoblin, for all these do you resemble, 
launch out, I say, into the mare magnum of the chivalric histories, 
and, if you can find that any squire has said or thought what you 
have now said, I will give you leave to nail it on my forehead, and 
to write fool upon my face in capitals into the bargain. Turn about 
the bridle or halter of your ass, and begone home, for one single 
step further you go not with me. O bread ill-bestowed ! O promises 
ill-placed ! O wretch that savourest more of the beast than of the 
human creature ! Now, when T thought of settling you in such a 
way that, in spite of your wife, you should have been styled your 



lordship, do you leave me ! Now you are for going, now that 
I have taken a firm and effectual resolution to make you lord of the 
best island in the world ! But, as you yourself have often said, 
honey is not for an ass's mouth. An ass you are, an ass you will 
continue to be, and an ass you will die ; for I verily believe your life 
will reach its final period before you will perceive or be convinced 
that you are a beast." 

Sancho looked woefully at Don Quixote, all the while he poured 
forth these bitter reproaches ; so great was the compunction he felt, 
that the tears stood in his eyes, and with a doleful and faint voice 
he said : " Dear sir, I confess that to be a complete ass I want 
nothing but a tail ; if your worship will be pleased to put me on 
one, I shall deem it well placed, and will serve your worship in the 
quality of an ass all the remaining days of my life. Pardon me, 
sir, and have pity on my ignorance. Consider that if I talk too 
much it proceeds more from infirmity than malice. But he who 
errs and mends, himself to God commends." — " I should wonder, 
Sancho," said Don Quixote, "if you did not mingle some little 
proverb with your talk. Well, I forgive you, upon condition of 
your amendment, and that henceforward you show not yourself so 



fond of your interest. Endeavour, on the contrary, to enlarge your 
heart; take courage, and strengthen your mmd to expect the 
accomplishment of my promises, which, though they are deferred, 
are not therefore desperate." Sancho answered that he would do 
so, though he should draw force from his weakness. Hereupon 
they entered the grove, where Don Quixote accommodated himself 
at the foot of an elm, and Sancho at the foot of a beech ; for such 
kind of trees have always feet but never hands. Sancho passed the 
night uneasily, the cold renewing the pain of his bruises. Don 
Quixote spent it in his wonted meditations, but, for all that, they 
both slept, and the next morning, at daylight, they pursued their 
way towards the banks of the famous river Ebro, where there befel 
them what vshall be related in the ensuing chapter. 





MERGING, as softly as 
they could tread, from 
the little wood, at the 
end of two days Don 
Quixote and Sancho 
came to the banks of 
the Ebro. The sight 
of this river gave Don 
Quixote great pleasure. 
He contemplated the 
verdure of its banks, the clearness of its waters, the smoothness of 
its CLírféht, and the abundance of its liquid crystal, which cheerful 
prospect brought to his remembrance a thousand amorous 
thoughts. Particularly, he mused upon what he had seen in the 
cavern of Montesinos ; for, though master Peter's ape had told 
him that those things were in part true and part false, he inclined 
rather to believe all true than false, quite the reverse of Sancho, 
who held them all for falsehood itself. 

As they sauntered along in this manner, they perceived a small 
boat, without oars or any sort of tackle, tied to the trunk of a tree 
which grew on the brink of the river ^^^. Don Quixote looked 
round about him every way, and, seeing nobody at all, without 
more ado he alighted from Rocinante and ordered Sancho to 

^^^ This adventure of an enchanted bark is very common in the books of chivalry. 
We meet with it in Amadis qf Gaul (book iv., chap, xii.), in Olivante de Laura (book 
ii., chap, i.), etc., etc. 


dismount from his ass, and to tie both beasts very fast to the trunk of 
a poplar or willow which grew there. Sancho asked the reason of 
his hasty alighting and tying up their animals. "You are to know, 
Sancho," answered Don Quixote, " that this vessel lies here for no 
other reason in the world than to invite me to embark in it, in 
order to succour a knight, or other person of high degree, who is 
in extreme distress. Such is, in effect, the practice of enchanters 
in the books of chivalry, when some knight happens to be engaged 
in a difficulty from which he cannot be delivered but by the hand 
of another knight. Though they are distant from each other two 
or three thousand leagues, or even more, they either snatch him up 
in a cloud, or furnish him with a boat to embark in ; and, in less 
than the twinkling of an eye, they carry him through the air or over 
the sea, whither they list, and where his assistance is wanted. So 
that, O Sancho, this bark must be placed here for the self-same 
purpose ; this is as true as that it is now day, and, before it be 
spent, tie Dapple and Rocinante together ; then, may the hand of 
God be our guide, for I would not fail to embark though bare- 
footed friars themselves should entreat me to the contrary." — 
" Since it is so," answered Sancho, " and that your worship will 
every step be running into these same (I can call them nothing 
else) headlong extravagancies, there is nothing to do but to obey 
and bow the head, giving heed to the proverb : * Do what your 
master bids you, and sit down by him at table.' But for all that, 
and for the discharge of my conscience, I must warn your worship 
that, to me, this same boat seems not to belong to the enchanted, 
but to some fishermen upon the river, for here they catch the best 
shads in the world." 

All this Sancho said while he was tying the cattle, leaving them to 
the protection and care of enchanters, to the great grief of his soul. 



Don Quixote bade him be in no pain about forsaking the beasts ; 
adding that he who was to carry them through to such remote 
regions would take care to feed them. " I do not understand your 
remote regions," said Sancho, " nor have I heard such a word as 
remote in all the days of my life." — " Remote," replied Don Quix- 
ote, " means a long distance off. No wonder you do not understand 
it, for you are not bound to know Latin, though some there are 
who pretend to know it and are quite as ignorant as yourself *7o." 
— "Now the beasts are úeá¿' j,SLÍd Sancho; "what must we do 
next?" — " What ?" answered Don Quixote, "why, bless ourselves 
and weigh anchor ; I mean, embark and cut the rope wherewith the 
vessel is tied." Then, leaping into it, Sancho following him, he 
cut the cord, and the boat, fell off by little and little from the 
shore. When Sancho saw himself about a couple of yards from 
the bank, he began to quake, fearing he should be lost; but 
nothing troubled him more than to hear his ass bray and to see 
Rocinante struggling to get loose. He said to his master : " The 
ass brays as bemoaning our absence, and Rocinante is endeavouring 
to get loose to throw himself into the river after us. O dearest 
friends, abide in peace, and may the madness which separates you 
from us, converted into a conviction of our error, soon return us to your 
presence." At these words he began to weep so bitterly that Don 
Quixote grew angry, and said : " What are you afraid of, cowardly 
creature ? What weep you for, heart of butter ? Who pursues, who 
hurts you, soul of a house rat ? Or what want you, poor wretch, 
in the midst of the bowels of abundance ? Are you, peradventure, 
trudging barefoot over the Riphean mountains ? No, but seated 
upon a bench like an archduke, gliding easily down the stream of 
this charming river, whence, in a short space, we shall issue out into 
the boundless ocean. But doubtless we are out already, and must 
have gone at least seven or eight hundred leagues. Ah ! if I had 
here an astrolabe to take the elevation of the pole, I would tell you 

^'^ In the original is longincuos, a pedantic word for which there is no equivalent 
in Enu-lish. 



how many we have gone; but, either I know little, or we are 
already past or shall presently pass the equinoctial line which 
divides and cuts the opposite poles at equal distances." — "And 
when we arrive at that line your worship speaks of," asked Sancho, 
"how far shall we have travelled?" — " A great way," replied Don 
Quixote ; " for, of three hundred and sixty degrees contained in the 
terraqueous globe, according to the computation of Ptolemy, the 
greatest geographer we know of, we shall have travelled one half, 
when we come to the line I told you of." — " By the Lord," cried 
Sancho, "your worsln*]) hns brought a very pretty fellow, that same 




Tolmy, with his amputation ^^i, to vouch the truth of what you 
say." Don Quixote smiled at Sancho's blunders as to the name 
and computation of the geographer Ptolemy. He said: '* You 
must know, Sancho, that one of the signs by which the Spaniards 
and those who embark at Cadiz for the East Indies discover whether 
they have passed the equinoctial line I told you of, is, that all the 
fleas upon every man in the ship die, not one remaining alive, nor 
is one to be found in the vessel, though they would give its weight 
in gold for it. Therefore, Sancho, pass your hand over your thigh ; 
if you light upon any thing alive, we shall be out of this doubt ; if 
not, we have passed the line." — "I believe nothing of all this," 
answered Sancho ; " however, I will do as your honour bids me, 
though I do not know what occasion there is for making this 
experiment, since I see with my own eyes that we are not got five 
fathoms from the bank, nor fallen two fathoms below our poor 
beasts. Yonder stand Rocinante and Dapple in the very place 
where we left them, and, taking aim as I do now, I vow to God we 
do not advance an ant's pace." — " Sancho," said Don Quixote, 
" make the trial I bade you, and take no further care. You know 
not what things colures are, nor what are lines, parallels, zodiacs, 
ecliptics, poles, solstices, equinoctials, planets, signs, points and 
measures, of which the celestial and terrestrial globes are composed. 
If you knew all these things, or but a part of them, you would 
plainly perceive what parallels we have cut, what signs we have 
seen, what constellations we are leaving behind us. Once more I 
bid you feel yourself all over, and fish, for I am of opinion you are 
as clean as a sheet of white writing-paper." 

Sancho carried his hand softly and gently towards his left ham 
and then lifted up his head ; and looking at his master : — " Either 
the experiment is false," said he, " or we are not arrived where your 
worship says, not by a great many leagues." — "Why," demanded 
Don Quixote, " have you met with something then ? " — " Ay, 
several somethings," answered Sancho ; and shaking his fingers, he 

^71 The original says : " puto and gafo with the nick-name of meon" We have 
felt ourselves compelled slightly to abridge Sancho's exclamation. 


washed his whole hand in the river, down whose current the boat 
was gently gliding, not moved by any secret influence, nor by any 
concealed enchanter, but merely by the stream of the water, then 
smooth and calm. 

By this time they discovered a large water-mill standing in the 
midst of the river, and directly Don Quixote espied it, he cried with 
a loud voice to Sancho : " O friend, behold, yonder appears the city, 

castle or fortress in which some knight lies under oppression, or 
some queen, infanta or princess in evil plight, for whose relief I 
am brought hither." — " What the devil of a city, fortress or castle 
do you talk of, sir ? " answered Sancho. " Do you not perceive that 
it is a mill built in the middle of the river for the grinding of 
com ? " — " Peace, Sancho," cried Don Quixote ; " though it seems to 
to be a mill, it is not one. I have already told you that enchant- 
ments transform and change all things from their natural shape. I 
do not say they change them really from one thing to another, but 
only in appearance, as experience showed us in the transformation 
of Dulcinea, the sole refuge of my hopes." 

The boat, being now got into the current of the river, began to 
move a little faster than it had done hitherto. The millers, seeing 
it coming adrift with the stream, and that it was just going into 



the swift stream of the mill-wheels, several of them ran out in all haste 
with long poles to stop it, and their faces and clothes being covered 
with meal, they had somewhat the appearance of ghosts. They 
bawled out as loud as they could : " Devils of men, where are you 
going ? Are ye desperate, that you have a mind to drown your- 
selves, or be ground to pieces by the wheels ? " — " Did I not tell 
you, Sancho," cried Don Quixote, "that we are come where I must 
demonstrate how far the valour of my arm extends ? Look what a 
parcel of murderers and felons come out against me, see what 
monsters, spectres and hobgoblins advance to oppose us, and what 

hideous phantoms appear to scare us. Now ye shall see, rascals." 
Standing up in the boat, he began to threaten the millers aloud : 
" 111 bred and worse advised scoundrels," cried he, "set at liberty 
and free the person you keep under oppression in this your fortress 



or prison, whether o^ high or low degree ; I am Don Quixote de la 
Mancha, surnamed the Knight of the Lions, for whom, by order of 
the high heavens, the putting a happy end to this adventure is 
reserved." As he made an end of these words, he clapped his hand to 
his sword, and began to fence with it in the air against the millers, 
who, hearing but not understanding these foolish flourishes, set 
themselves with their poles to stop the boat, which was just entering 
into the eddy caused by the wheels. Sancho fell upon his knees, 
and prayed to heaven devoutly to deliver him from so manifest a 

danger, which it did, in effect, by the diligence and agility of the 
millers, who, setting their poles ^gahist the boat, stopped it, though 
not so dexterously but that they capsized it, and tipped Don Quixote 
and Sancho into the water. It was well for Don Quixote that he 
"knew how to swim like a goose; the weight of his armour actually 
<lid carry him twice to the bottom, and had it not been for the 



millers, who threw themselves into the river, and pulled them out, 
one by the head and the other by the heels, they must have 

inevitably perished. When they were dragged on shore, more wet 
than thirsty, Sancho kneeling, with his hands joined and eyes 
uplifted, besought God, in a long and devout prayer, to deliver 
him thenceforward from the daring desires and enterprises of his 

At this moment came the fishermen, owners of the boat which 
the mill-wheels had crushed to pieces ; seeing it broken, they began 
to strip Sancho and demand payment for it of Don Quixote. 
The lattej, with great tranquility, as if nothing had befallen him, 
told the millers and the fishermen he would pay for the boat with 
all his heart, upon condition that they should deliver up to him, 
free and without ransom, the person or persons who lay under 
oppression in their castle. " Wliat persons or what castle do you 
mean, madman?" asked one of the millers; "would you carry ofí* 
those who come to grind their corn at our mills?" — "Enough," 
said Don Quixote to himself; "it will be preaching in the desert 



to endeavour by entreaty to prevail with such a mob to do any 
thing that is honourable. Besides, in this adventure, two able 
enchanters must have engaged, the one frustrating what the other 
attempts ; the one providing me a boat, and the other capsizing it. 
God help us ! this world is nothing but machinations and tricks 
quite opposite one to the other ; I can do no more." Then, looking 
towards the mills, he continued : " Friends, whoever you are that 
are confined in this prison, pardon me ; through my misfortune and 
yours I cannot deliver you from your affliction ; this adventure is 
doubtless reserved for some other knight." 

Having so said, he compounded with the fishermen, and paid 
fifty reals for the boat, which Sancho disbursed much against his 
will. " A couple of such embarkations," said he, " will sink our 
whole capital." The fishermen and millers stood wondering at these 
two figures, so out of the fashion and semblance of other men. They 
were unable to comprehend what Don Quixote drove at in his 
questions and the discourse he held with them. Looking upon 
them as madmen, they left them and betook themselves, the 
millers to their mill, the fishermen to their huts. Don Quixote 
and Sancho, like beasts themselves, returned to their beasts ; and 
thus ended the adventure of the enchanted bark. 





N a sufficiently sad and dejected 
mood, the knight and squire rejoined 
their beasts, especially Sancho, who 
was grieved to the soul to touch the 
capital of the money, all that was 
taken from thence seeming to him to 
be so much taken from the apple of 
his eyes. Finally, they mounted 
/ -^^ "^ >^ ~ - '' ' without exchanging a word and 
quitted the famous river, Don Quixote buried in the thoughts of 
his love, and Sancho in those of his preferment, which he thought 
for the present farther off than ever. Blockhead as he was, he saw 
well enough that most of his master's actions were extravagancies. 
Therefore he only waited for an opportunity, without coming to 
accounts or discharges, to walk off some day or other and march 
home. But fortune ordered matters quite contrary to what he feared. 
It happened that the next day, about sunset, as he was going out 
of a wood, Don Quixote cast his eyes over a green meadow and saw 
people at the farther side of it, and, drawing near, he found that they 


were hunters of high flight ^72. Drawing yet nearer, he observed 
among them a gallant lady upon a palfrey or milk-white pad, with 
green furniture and a side-saddle of cloth of silver. The lady herself 
also was arrayed in green, and her attire so full of elegance and 
richness, that good taste itself seemed transformed into her. On her 
left hand she carried a hawk, whence Don Quixote conjectured she 
must be a lady of great quality, and mistress of all those sportsmen 
about her, as in truth she was. So he said to Sancho : " Run, son 
Sancho, and tell that lady of the palfrey and the hawk that I, the 
Knight of the Lions, kiss the hands of her great beauty, and if her 
highness gives me leave, I will wait upon her to kiss them, 
and to serve her to the utmost of my powe*r, in whatever her 
highness shall command. And take heed, Sancho, how you speak, 
and have a care not to interlard your embassy with any of your 
proverbs." — "You have hit upon the interlarder," said Sancho ; " why 
this to me ? Is this the first time I ever carried a message to high 
and mighty ladies in my life ?" — " Excepting that to the lady Dul- 
cinea," replied Don Quixote, " I know of none you have carried, at 
least none from me." — " That is true," answered Sancho ; " but a good 
paymaster needs no surety, and where there is plenty, dinner is not 
long dressing. I mean there is no need of advising me, for I am 
prepa^-ed for all, and have a smattering of everything." — " I believe 
it, Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " go in a good hour, and God be 
your guide." 

Sancho went ofli' at a round rate, forcing his donkey out of his 
usual pace, and soon came up with the fair huntress. Alighting 
and kneeling before her, he said : " Beauteous lady, that knight 
yonder, called the Knight of the Lions, is my master, and I am his 
squire, called at home Sancho Panza. The said Knight of the 
LionSf who not long ago was called he of the Sorrowful Figure, 
sends by me to desire your grandeur would be pleased to give leave 
that, with your goodwill and consent, he may approach and accom- 
plish his wishes, which, as he says and I believe, are no other than 

*^ This was the name given to the pursuit with falcons of birds of high flight, as 
the heron, the stork, the wild-duck, etc. Falconry was a recreation reserved for 
princes and noblemen. 




to serve your high-towering falconry and incomparable beauty. 
By granting my master this permission, your grandeur will do a 
thing that will redound to your grandeur's advantage, and he will 

"Truly, good squire,** 

receive a most signal favour and satisfaction." 


answered the lady, " you have delivered your message vdth all the 
formalities which such embassies require. Rise up, for it is not 


fit the squire of so renowned a knight as he of the Sorrowful Figure 
(of whom we have already heard a great deal in these parts) should 
remain upon his knees. Rise, friend, and tell your master he may 
come and welcome, for I and the duke my husband are at his service, 
together with the country-seat we have here hard by." 

Sancho rose up, no less struck by the lady's great beauty than by 
her good breeding and courtesy, and especially that she had some 
knowledge of his master the Knight of the Sorrowful Figure ; and, 
as she did not call him the Knight of the Lions, Sancho concluded 
it was because he had assumed it so very lately. The duchess, 
(whose title only is known *73^) g^id to him : " Tell me, brother 
squire, is not this master of yours the person of whom there goes 
about a history in print, called * The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote 
de la Mancha,' who has for mistress of his affections one Dulcinea 
del Toboso ? " — " The very same," answered Sancho, " and that 
squire of his, who is or ought to figure in that same history, called 
Sancho Panza, am I, unless I was changed in the cradle, I mean 
in the press." — *^ 1 am very glad of all this," said the duchess. " Go, 
brother Panza, and tell your master he is heartily welcome to my 
estates, and that nothing could happen to me which could give me 
greater pleasure." 

With this agreeable answer, Sancho returned, infinitely delighted, 
to his master, to whom he recounted all that the great lady had 
said to him, extolling to the skies in his rustic phrase, her beauty, 
her good humour and her courtesy. Don Quixote, putting on his 
best airs, seated himself gallantly in his saddle, adjusted his vizor, 
enlivened Rocinante's mettle, and, with a genteel assurance, advan- 
ced to kiss the duchess's hand, who, having caused the duke her 
husband to be called, had been telling him, while Don Quixote 
was coming up, the puport of Sancho's message. Having both 
read the first part of this history, and having learned by it the 

^ These expressions prove that Cervantes did not intend to designate any 
Spanish grandee of his time, and that his duke and duchess are the pure offspring 
of his imaginution. It has been conjectured, mefely from the situation of the 
places, that the castle where Don Quixote was so well received is a villa called 
Bucnavia, situated near the town of Pedrola in Aragón, in the possession of the 
dukes of VUluhcrmosu. 



extravagant humour of Don Quixote, they waited for him with the 
greatest pleasure, anxiously desiring to be acquainted with him 
for the purpose of carrying on the humour, giving him his own 
way, treating him, in a word, like a knight-errant all the while he 
should stay with them, with all the ceremonies usual in books of 
chivalry, which they had read and were also very fond of. 

By this time Don Quixote was arrived, with his beaver up, and, 
making a shew of alighting, Sancho was hastening to hold his 
stirrup. But, as the unlucky squire was dismounting from his ass, his 
foot hung in one of the rope stirrups, in such manner that it was 
impossible for him to disentangle himself, and he hung by it with his 
face and breast on the ground. Don Quixote who was not used 
to alight without having his stirrup held, thinking Sancho was 
come to do his office, threw his body off with a swing, and carrying 
with him Rocinante's saddle, which was ill girthed, both he and the 
saddle came to the ground, to his no small shame, and muttering 

many a heavy curse between his teeth on the unfortunate Sancho, 
who still had his legs in the stocks. The duke commanded some 


of his sportsmen to help the knight and squire. The latter raised 
up Don Quixote, in ill plight through his fall, who, limping as well 
as he could, immediately made shift to go and kneel before the 
lord and lady ; but the duke would by no means suffer it ; on the 
contrary, alighting from his horse, he went and embraced Don 
Quixote. " I am very sorry. Sir Knight of the Sorrowful Figure,'* 
said he, " that your first arrival at my estate should prove to be so 
unlucky ; but the carelessness of squires is often the occasion of 
worse mischances." — "It could not be accounted unlucky, O 
valourous prince," answered Don Quixote, " though I had met 
with no stop till I had fallen to the bottom of the deep abyss ! for 
the glory of having seen your highness would have raised me even 
thence. My squire, God's curse light on him, is better at letting 
loose his tongue to say unlucky things than at fastening a saddle 
to make it sit firm. But whether down or up, on foot or on horse- 
back, I shall always be at your highness's service, and at that of 
my lady duchess, your worthy consort, worthy mistress of all 
beauty and universal princess of courtesy." — " Softly, dear signor 
Don Quixote de la Mancha," said the duke ; — " where lady 
Donna Dulcinea del Toboso reigns, it is not reasonable other 
beauties should be praised." 

Sancho Panza was now got free from the noose, and chancing to 
be near, he said before his master could answer : "It cannot be 
denied that my lady Dulcinea del Toboso is very beautiful, and I 
am ready to swear to the fact ; but where we are least aware, there 
starts the hare, and I have heard say that what they call nature is 
like a potter who makes earthen vessels. He who makes one 
handsome vessel may also make two, three and a hundred. This I say, 
because, in God's faith, my lady the duchess comes not a whit behind 
my mistress the lady Dulcinea del Toboso," Don Quixote, turning 
to the duchess, said : " I assure you, madam, never any knight- 
errant in the world had a more prating or a more merry conceited 
squire than I have ; and he will make my words good, if your 
highness is pleased to make use of my service for some days." The 
duchess answered : "I am glad to hear that honest Sancho is 
pleasant, for it is a sign he is discreet. Pleasantry and good 



liumour, signer Don Quixote, as your worship well knows, dwell 
not in dull noddles ; and since Sancho is pleasant and witty, hence- 
forward I pronounce him discreet." — " And a prate-apace," added 
Don Quixote. " So much the better," said the duke, " for many 
good things cannot be expressed in few words. But that we may not 
throw away all our time upon them, let us proceed, great Knight 
of the Sorroivful Figure — " — ** Of the LionSf your highness should 
say," interrupted Sancho ; " the sorrowful figure is no more." 
" Vouchsafe to accompany us. Sir Knight of the Lions^* pursued 
the duke, " to a castle of mine hard by, where you shall be received 
in a manner suitable to a person of so elevated a rank, and as the 
duchess and I never fail to receive all knights-errant who honour 
it vdth their presence." 

By this time Sancho had adjusted and girthed Rocinante's saddle ; 
and Don Quixote mounting upon him, and the duke upon a very 
fine horse, they placed the duchess between them and rode towards 
the castle. The duchess ordered Sancho to be near her, being 
mightily delighted with his conceits. Sancho was easily prevailed 
upon, and, stationing himself amidst the three, he made a fourth in 
the conversation, to the great satisfaction of the duke and duchess, 
who looked upon it as a notable piece of good fortune to entertain 
in their castle such a knight-errant and such a talking squire. 






ANCHO sjoy 
was exces- 
sive to find 
that he had 
become, as 
he thought, 
so great a 
favourite of 
the duchess, 
in whose 
castle he 
expected to 
fare as well 
as at Don 
Diego's or 
Basilius's ; 

for he was always a lover of good cheer, and consequently took 
by the forelock every opportunity of regaling himself, where and 
whenever it presented. The history relates that, before they came 
to the pleasure house or castle, the duke rode on before, and gave 



all the servants their cue, in what manner they were to behave to 
Don Quixote. When the latter arrived with the duchess at the 
castle gate, there immediately issued out two lacqueys or grooms, 
clad in morning-gowns of fine crimson satin down to their heels, 
who, taking Don Quixote in their arms, lifted him from his saddle 
and said to him: " Go, great sir, and take our lady the duchess off 
her horse." Don Quixote obej'ed ; but, after great compliments 
had passed between them, the duchess's positiveness got the better. 
She would not alight from her palfrey but into the duke's arms, 
saying she did not think herself worthy to charge so grand a 
knight with so uprofi table a burden. At length the duke came 
out and lifted her off her horse, and, on their entering into a large 

court-yard, two beautiful damsels came, and threw over Don 


Quixote's shoulders a large mantle of the finest scarlet. In an 
instant all the galleries of the court-yard were crowded with men 
and women servants belonging to the duke and duchess, crying 
aloud : " Welcome the flower and cream of knights-errant ! " and 
sprinkling whole bottles of sweet scented waters upon Don 
Quixote, and on the duke and duchess. At all this Don Quixote 
wondered, and this was the first day that he was thoroughly con- 
vinced of his being a true knight-errant, and not an imaginary 
one, finding himself treated just as he had read knights-errant 
were in former times. 

Sancho, abandoning his donkey, tacked himself close to the 
duchess, and entered into the castle. But his conscience soon 
pricking him for leaving his ass alone, he approached a reverend 
duenna, who among others came out to receive the duchess, and 
said to her in a whisper : " Mistress Gonzalez, or whatever is your 

duennaship's name " — " Donna Rodriguez de Grijalva ^^'^j" 

answered the duenna : " what would you please to have with me, 
brother?" — "Be so good, my lady," answered Sancho, "as to step 
to the castle gate, where you will find a dapple ass of mine. Your 
ladyship will then have the goodness to order him to be put, or put 
him yourself, into the stable, for the poor thing is a little timorous, 
and cannot abide to be alone by any means in the world." — " If 
the master be as discreet as the man," answered the duenna, " we 
are finely thriven. Go, brother, in an evil hour for you and him 
that brought you hither, look after your beast, and learn that the 
duennas of this house are not accustomed to such kind of ofliices." 
— "Why truly," answered Sancho, " I have heard my master, who 
is very deeply read in histories, relating the story of Lancelot, 
when he from Britain came, say that ladies took care of his 
person and duennas of his horse *75^ And certes, as to the 
particular of my ass, I would not change him for signor Lancelot's 

^* The title of Don or Donna, like the English Sir, is only used before the 
Christian name. Usage had introduced an exception for Duennas, the title of 
Donna being bestowed upon them before their surname. 

*^'' In alluiion to the verses of the romance of Lancelot cited in the first part 




steed." — "If you are a buifoon, brother," replied the duenna, 
" keep your jokes for some place where they may make a better 
figure, and where you may be paid for them, for from me you will 
get nothing but a fig for them." 

" I am sure then it will be a ripe one," retorted Sancho, " there 
being no danger of your losing the game at your years for want of 
a trick." — " You son of a dog ! " cried the duenna, all on fire with 

rage, " whether I am old or not to God I am to give an account, 
and not to you, rascal, garlick-eating lump." This she uttered so 
loud that the duchess heard it, and turning about, and seeing the 
duenna so disturbed and her eyes red as blood, asked her with 
whom she was so angry. " With this good man here," answered 
the duenna, *'who has desired me in good earnest to go and set 
up an ass of his that stands at the castle gate, citing for a pre- 
cedent that the same thing was done I know not where by one 
Lancelot and telling me how certain ladies looked after him, and 


certain duennas after his steed, then, to mend the matter in 
mannerly terms, he called me an old woman." — " I should take 
that for the greatest aifront that could be offered me," answered 
the duchess; and, turning to Sancho she said: "Be assured, friend 
Sancho, that Donna Rodriguez is very young, and wears those 
veils more for authority and the fashion than on account of 
her years." — " May the remainder of those I have to live never 
prosper," answered Sancho, " if I meant her any ill ; I only said 
it because the tenderness I have for my ass is so great that I 
thought I could not recommend him to a more charitable person 
than to signora Donna Rodriguez." Don Quixote, who overheard 
all, could not forbear saying : " Are these discourses, Sancho, fit for 
this place ? " — " Sir," answered Sancho, " every one must speak of 
his wants, be he where he will. Here I bethought me of my 
donke)^, and here I spoke of him ; if I had thought of him in the 
stable, I had spoken of him there." — " Sancho is very much in the 
right," added the duke, "and not to be blamed in anything. 
Dapple shall have provender to his heart's content, and let 
Sancho take no further care, for he shall be treated like his own 

In the midst of these discourses, pleasing to all but Don 
Quixote, they mounted the stairs, and conducted Don Quixote 
into a great hall hung with rich tissue and cloth of gold and brocade. 
Six damsels unarmed him and served him as pages, all instructed 
and tutored by the duke and duchess what they were to do, and 
how they were to behave towards Don Quixote, that he might 
imagine and see they used him like a knight errant. 

Don Quixote, being unarmed, remained in his strait hauts de 
chausses and chamois doublet, lean, tall and stiff, his cheeks being so 
hollow that they met and kissed each other inside his mouth : such a 
figure that, if the damsels who waited upon him had not taken care to 
contain themselves, in obedience to the strict orders of their lord 
and lady, they had died with laughing. They desired he would 
suffer himself to be undressed and put on a shirt, but he would by 
no means consent, saying that modesty was as becoming a knight- 
errant as courage. However he biide them give Sancho the shirt, 


and, shutting himself up with him in a room where stood a rich 
bed, he pulled oíF his clothes, and put on the shirt. When he 
found himself alone with Sancho : " Tell me " said he, " modern 
buffoon and antique blockead, do you think it a becoming thing 
to dishonour and affront a duenna so venerable, so worthy of 
respect ? Was that a time to think of your ass ? or are these 
gentry likely to let our beasts fare poorly, who treat their owners 
so magnificently ? For the love of God, Sancho, restrain yourself 
and do not discover the grain, lest it should be seen of how coarse 
a country web you are spun. Do you not know, hardened sinner, 
that the master is so much the more esteemed by how much his 
servants are civiler and better bred, and that one of the greatest 
advantages great persons have over other men, is that they employ 
servants as good as themselves? Do you not consider, wretched 
creature, that if people perceive you are a gross peasant or a 
ridiculous fool, they will be apt to think I am some beggarly 
country squire, or knight of the sharping order ? No, no, friend 
Sancho : avoid, avoid those dangerous thralls ; whoever sets up for a 
talker and a railer, sinks, the first slip he makes, into a disgraced 
buffoon. Bridle your tongue, consider and deliberate upon your 
words before they go out of your mouth, and remember that we are 
come to a place whence, by the help of God and the valour of my 
arm, we may depart bettered three or even five-fold in fortune and 

Sancho faithfully promised his master to sew up his mouth or bite 
his tongue before he spoke a word that was not to the purpose and 
well-considered, as he commanded. " You need be under no pain as to 
that matter," he added ; " for no discovery shall be made to your 
prejudice by me." Don Quixote then dressed himself, girt on his 
sword, threw the scarlet mantle over his shoulders, put on a green 
satin montera which the damsels had given him, and, thus equipped, 
marched out into the great saloon, where he found the damsels drawn 
up in two ranks, as many on one side as the other, and all of them 
provided with flagons of perfumed water for washing his hands, which 
they administered with many reverences and ceremonies. Then came 
twelve pages with the gentleman-sewer, to conduct him to dinner. 


where by this time the lord and lady were waiting for him. They 
placed him in the middle of them, and, with great pomp and 
majesty, conducted him to another hall, where a rich table was 
spread with four covers only. The duke and duchess came to the 
hall door to receive him : they were accompanied by a grave eccle- 
siastic, one of those who govern great men's houses ; one of those 
who, not being princes born, know not how to instruct those that 
are how to demean themselves as such ; one of those who would 
have the magnificence of the great measured by the narrowness of 
their own minds ; finally, one of those who, pretending to teach those 
they govern to be frugal, make them appear sordid misers *76, One 

"•^c In Cervantes' time, it was almost universally the custom among the nobility to 
have public and appointed confessors as members of their household. These 
clerical favourites rarely confined themselves to administering to the conscience of 
their penitents ; they also took a part in the direction of their patrons' temporal affairs 
and made themselves the agents of their munificence, to the great prejudice of tlic 
unfortunate, and of their patrons' reputation. — At the same time that Cervantes 
censures the general vice, he exercises a little private vengeance. The reader has 
seen in his L\fe (vol. 1, page xxxii.) that one of these divines was violently opposed 
to the Duke of Bejar's accepting the dedication of the first part of J}oh QuUoie. 
Tliis divine he here delineates. 


of this sort, doubtless, was the grave ecclesiastic who came out with 
the duke to receive Don Quixote. A thousand polite compliments 
passed upon this occasion, after which, taking Don Quixote 
between them, they went and sat down to table. The duke offered 
Don Quixote the upper end, and, though he would have declined 
it, the importunities of the duke prevailed on him to accept it. 
The ecclesiastic seated himself over against him, and the duke and 
duchess on each side. Sancho was present all the while, surprised 
and astonished to see the honour those princes did his master. 
When he perceived the many entreaties and ceremonies that passed 
between the duke and Don Quixote, to make his master sit at the 
head of the table, he said : " If your honours will give me leave, I 
will inform you of what once happened in our village in reference 
to places at table." 

No sooner had Sancho said those words than Don Quixote began 
to tremble, persuaded that his squire was about to utter some 
absurdity. Sancho, perceiving what was passing in his master's 
mind, said : "Be not afraid, Sir, of my saying anything that is not 
pat to the purpose. I have not forgotten the advice your worship 
gave me awhile ago, about talking much or little, well or ill." 
" I remember nothing, Sancho," answered Don Quixote ; " say 
what you will, so that you say it quickly." — " What I would say," 
said Sancho, " is very true, and should it be othewise, my master, 
Don Quixote, who is present, will not suffer me to lie." — " Lie as 
much as you will for me, Sancho," replied Don Quixote ; " I will 
not be your hindrance ; but take heed what you are going to say." 
" I have so heeded and re-heeded it," continued Sancho, "that the 
bell-ringer is sure to be safe this time ; this you are about to see by 
the operation." — " It will be convenient," said Don Quixote, " that 
your honours order this blockhead to be turned out of doors, for he 
will be making a thousand foolish blunders." — " By the life of the 
duke," said the duchess, " Sancho shall not stir a jot from me. I 
love him much, for I know he is mighty discreet." — " Many such 
years may your holiness live," cried Sancho, " for the good opinion 
you have of me, though it is not in me. But the tale I would tell 
is this : A certain hidalgo of our town, very rich and of a good 


family, for he was descended from the Alamos of Medina de 
Campo, and married Donna Mencia de Quiñones, who was daughter 
of Don Alonzo de Maranon, Knight of the Order of St. James, 
who was drowned at the island of Herradura ^^T^ about whom there 
happened that quarrel in our town some years ago, in which, as I 
take it, my master, Don Quixote was concerned, and Tomasillo, the 

madcap son of Balbastro the smith, was hurt Pi'ay, good 

master of mine, is not all this true ? Speak, by your life, that these 
gentlemen may not take me for some lying prattling fellow." 
— " Hitherto," said the ecclesiastic, " I take you rather for a prater 
than for a liar ; but henceforward I know not what I shall take you 
for." — " You produce so many evidences and so many tokens, that 
I cannot but say," said Don Quixote, "it is likely you tell the 
truth. Go on and shorten the story, for you take the way not to 
have done in two days." — " He shall shorten nothing," cried the 
duchess ; " and to please me he shall tell it his own way, though he 
shall not have done in six days, for should it take up so many, 
they would be to me the most agreeable of any I ever spent in my 
life." — " I say then. Sirs," proceeded Sancho, " that this same 
hidalgo, whom I know as well as I do my right hand from my left, 
for it is not a bow-shot from my house to his, invited a farmer, who 
was poor but honest, to dinner." — '* Proceed friend, proceed," cried 
the ecclesiastic, " for you are going the way with your tale not to 
stop till you come to the other world." — " I shall stop before we 
get half way thither, if it pleases God," answered Sancho. " The 
farmer, coming to the said gentleman-inviter's house, God rest his 
soul, for he is dead and gone, by the same token it is repoi jd 
he died like an angel ; for I was not by, being at that time gone a 
reaping to Tembleque." — "Pr'ythee, son," cried the ecclesiastic, 
" come back quickly from Tembleque, and, without burying your 
hidalgo, unless you have a mind to make more burials, make an end 
of your tale." — " The business, then," said Sancho, " was that they. 

*^7 This Alonzo de Maranon was in fact drowned near the Island of Herradura, on 
the coast of Grenada, with a crowd of other soldiers, when a squadron sent by 
Philip II„ to the assistance of Oran who was beseiging Hassan-Aga, the son of 
Barbarossa, was driven by the tempests on that Island, in 1562. 



being ready to sit down to table , me thinks I see them now- 
better than ever " The duke and duchess took great pleasure 

in seeing the displeasure the good ecclesiastic suffered by the length 
and pauses of Sancho's tale, but Don Quixote was quite angry and 
vexed. " I say then," said Sancho, " that they both standing, as I 
have said, and just ready to sit down, the farmer disputed obsti- 
nately with the hidalgo to take the upper end of the table, and the 
hidalgo with as much positiveness pressed the farmer to take it, 
saying he ought to command in his own house. But the country- 
man, piquing himself upon his civility and good-breeding, would by 
no means sit down, till the Hidalgo in a fret, laying both his hands 
upon the farmer's shoulders, made him sit dovm by main force, 
saying : * Sit thee dovm, chaff-threshing churl, for let me sit where I 
will that is the upper end to thee.' This is my tale, and truly I 
believe it was brought in here pretty much to the purpose." 

The natural brown of Don Quixote's face was sparkled with a 
thousand colours. The duke and duchess contained their laughter, 
that Don Quixote might not be quite abashed, he having under- 
stood Sancho's slyness ; and, to change the discourse, and to prevent 
Sancho's running into more impertinencies, the duchess asked Don 
Quixote what news he had of the lady Dulcinea, and whether he 
had lately sent her any presents of giants or malandrins*^^, since he 
must certainly have vanquished a great many. " My misfortunes, 
madam," answered Don Quixote, " though they have had a begin- 
ning, will never have an end. Giants I have conquered, caitiffs and 
malandrins, and have sent several ; but where should they find her, 
if she should be enchanted and transformed into the ugliest country 
wench that can be imagined." — " I know not," interrupted Sancho 
Panza ; " to me she appeared the most beautiful creature in the 
world. At least in activity I am sure she will not yield the advan- 
tage to a tumbler. In good faith, lady duchess, she bounces from 
the ground upon an ass, as if she were a cat." — " Have you seen her 

*78 In the time of the crusades, the Arab brigands who infested Syria and Egypt 
were called malandrins. This word still remains in the language of the south of 
Spain in the sense of a highway-robber or pirate, and frequently occurs in the 
books of chivalry. 



enchanted, Sancho?" demanded the duke. "Seen her! " answered 
Sancho, " who the devil hut I was the first that hit upon the busi- 
ness of her enchantment ? she is as much enchanted as my father." 
The ecclesiastic, when he heard talk of giants, malandrins and 
enchantments, began to suspect that this must be Don Quixote de 
la Mancha, whose history the duke was commonly reading, which 
he had as frequently reproved him for doing, telling him it was 
extravagant to read such extravagancies. When he was convinced 
of the truth of his suspicions, he said to the duke, with much choler : 
"Your excellency, sir, shall give an account to God for what this 
good man is doing. This Don Quixote, or Don Coxcomb, or how 
do you call him, can hardly, I should think, be so great an idiot as 
your excellency would have him, laying occasions in his way to go 
on in his folHes and impertinencies." Then, addressing Don Quixote, 

/ I 

! / 


:' 'S^. 

'■ 'a\m 

he added: "And you, stupid wretch, who has thrust it into your 

VOL. III. o 



brain that you are a knight-errant, and that you conquer giants and 
seize malandrins ? Depart in peace, return to your own house, 
breed up your children, if you have any, mind your affairs, and cease 
to ramble up and down the world, sucking the wind and making all 
people laugh that know you or know you not. Where, in the 
devil's name, have you found that there have been or are knights- 
errant ? Where are there any giants in Spain, or malandrins in 
La Mancha, or Dulcineas enchanted, or all the jumble of follies 
that are told of you ? " 

Don Quixote was very attentive to the words of this venerable 
man. Finding that he now held his peace, wdthout minding the 
respect due to the duke and duchess, with an ireful mien and 

disturbed countenance, he started up and cried But his answer 

deserves a chapter by itself. 





TARTING suddenly up and 
trembling from head to 
foot, as if he had been 
seized with an epileptic 
fit, Don Quixote cried, 
in a precipitate and dis- 
turbed voice : " The place 
where I am, the presence 
of the personages before 
whom I stand, the respect 
I ever had and shall 
always have for men of 
your profession, all con- 
tribute to restrain the 
hands of my just indigna- 
tion. Therefore, as well 
upon account of what I 


have said, as being conscious of what every body knows, that the 
weapons of gownmen are the same as those of women, their tongues, I 
will enter with mine into combat with your reverence, from whom 
one rather ought to have expected good counsels than opprobrious 
revihngs. Pious and well meant reproof demands another kind of 
behaviour and language. At least, the reproving me in public, and 
so rudely, has passed all the bounds of decent reprehension, for it 
is better to begin with mildness than asperity ; and it is not right, 
without knowledge of the fault, without more ado, to call the 
offender madman and idiot. But tell me, I beseech your reverence, 
for which of the follies you have seen in me do you condemn and 
revile me, bidding me begone home and take care of my house, my 
wife and children, without knowing whether I have either ? What ! 
is there no more to do but to enter boldly into other men's houses 
to govern the masters ? and shall a poor pedagogue, who never saw 
more of the world than what is contained within a district of twenty 
or thirty leagues, set himself at random to prescribe laws to chivalry, 
and to judge of knights-errant? Is it then, perchance, an idle 
scheme ? Is it time thrown away to range the world, not seeking 
its delights but its austerities, whereby good men aspire to the seat 
of immortality? If gentlemen, persons of wealth, birth and 
quality were to take me for a madman, I should look upon it as an 
irreparable affront; but to be esteemed a fool by pedants, who 
never entered upon or trod the paths of chivalry, I value it not a 
farthing. A knight I am and a knight I will die, if it be Heaven's 
good will. Some pass through the spacious field of proud ambition ; 
others through that of servile and base flattery; others by the way of 
deceitful hypocrisy ; and some by that of true religion. But I, by 
the influence of my star, take the narrow path of knight-erantry, for 
the exercise whereof I despise wealth, but not honour. I have 
redressed grievances, righted wrongs, chastised insolence, vanquished 
giants and bearded spectres and hobgoblins. I am in love, but only 
because knights-errant must be so ; and being so, I am no vicious 
lover, but a chaste Platonic one. My intentions are always directed 
to virtuous ends, to do good to all, hurt to none. Whether he who 
means thus, acts thus, who lives in the practice of all this, deserves 


to be called a fool, let your grandeurs judge, most excellent duke 
and duchess." 

" Well said ! in faith, very well said ! " cried Sancho. " Say no 
more in vindication of yourself, good my lord and master ; for there 
is no more to be said, nor to be thought, nor to be persevered in, 
in the v^rorld. Besides, this gentlemen denying, as he has denied, 
that there ever v^ere or are knights-errant, it is no wonder if he 
knows nothing of what he has been talking about." — " Peradven- 
ture, brother," asked the ecclesiastic, " you are that Sancho Panza 
they talk of, to whom your master has promised an island ? " — " I 
am so," answered Sancho ; " and I am he who deserves one as well 
as any other he whatever. I am one of those of whom they say : 
* Associate with good men, and thou wilt be one of them,' and of 
those of whom it is said again : * Not with whom thou wert bred, 
but with whom thou hast fed,' and of those, moreover, of whom it 
is farther said : * He that leaneth against a good tree, a good shelter 
findeth he.' I have leaned to a good master, and have kept him 
company these many months, and shall be such another as he, if 
it be God's good pleasure. If he lives and I live, neither shall 
he want kingdoms to rule, nor I islands to govern." — " That you 
shall not, friend Sancho," cried the duke ; " for, in the name of 
Signor Don Quixote, I promise you the government of one of mine, 
now vacant, and of no inconsiderable value." — " Kneel, Sancho," 
said Don Quixote, ** and kiss his excellency's feet for the favour he 
has done you." 

Sancho hastened to obey his master. When the ecclesiastic saw 
this, he rose from his seat at the table in a great pet : "By the 
habit I wear," cried he, " I could find in my heart to say your 
excellency is as simple as these sinners. What wonder that they 
are mad, since wise men authorize their follies ? Your excellency 
may stay with them if you please ; but, while they are in this house, 
1 will stay in my own and save myself the trouble of reproving 
what I cannot remedy." Without saying a word or eating a bit 
more, away he went, the entreaties of the duke and duchess not 
availing to stop him. It is true, indeed, that the duke did not say 
much, through laughter occasioned by his impertinent passion." 



His laugh being over, he said to Don Quixote : " Sir Knight of 
the Lions, you have answered so well, so victoriously, for yourself, 
that there remains nothing to demand satisfaction for in this case ; 
for, though it has the appearance of an affront, it is by no means 
such ; since, as women cannot give an affront, so neither can eccle- 
siastics, as you better know." — " It is true," answered Don Quixote, 
" and the reason is, that whoever cannot be affronted, neither can 
he give an affront to any body. Women, children and churchmen, 
as they cannot defend themselves, though they are offended, so they 
cannot be affronted. Between an injury and an affront, as your 
excellency better knows, there is this difference ; an affront comes 
from one who can give it, does give it and then maintains it ; an 
injury may come from any hand, without affronting. For example : 
A person stands carelessly in the street ; ten others armed fall upon 
him and beat him ; he claps his hand to his sword, as he ought to 
do ; but the number of his adversaries hinder him from effecting 
his intention, which is to revenge himself. This person is injured, 
but not affronted. Another example will confirm the truth of my 
position. A man stands with his back turned ; another comes and 
strikes him with a cudgel, but, after giving the blow, away he runs 
from the other man, who pursues but cannot overtake him. He 
who received the blows received an injury, but no affront, because 
the affront, to be such, must be maintained. If he who struck him, 
though he did it basely and unawares, draws his sword afterwards, 
and stands firm, facing his enemy, he who was struck is both 
injured and affronted : injured, because he was struck treacherously; 
affronted, because he who struck him maintained what he had done 
by standing his ground and not stirring a foot. Hence, according 
to the established laws of the cursed duel, I may be injured, but not 
affronted. Effectively, women and children can neither resent nor 
fly ; nor can they stand their ground. The same may be said of 
men consecrated to holy orders, for these three sorts of people want 
offensive and defensive weapons. So, though they are naturally 
bound to defend themselves, yet are they not to offend any body. 
Although, therefore, I said before I was injured, I now assert that I 
could in no wise be so ; for he who cannot receive an affront can 


mucli less give one. For all these reasons, I neither do nor ought to 
resent what that good man said to me. Only I could have wished 
he had staid a little longer, that I might have convinced him of his 
error in thinking and saying that there are no knights-errant now, 
nor ever were any in the world. Had Amadis or any of his 
numerous descendants heard this blasphemy, I am persuaded it would 
not have fared over well with his reverence." — " That I will swear," 
cried Sancho ; " they would have given him such a slash as would 
have cleft him from top to bottom, like a pomegranate or over-ripe 
melon. They were not folks, in good faith, to be jested with in 
that manner. By my beads, I am very certain that had Reynaldo 
of Montalvan heard the little gentleman talk at that rate, he would 
have given him such a blow on the mouth that he would not have 
spoken a word more in three years. Ay, ay, let him meddle with 
them, and see how he will escape out of their hands." The duchess 
was ready to die with laughter at hearing Sancho talk, and took 
him to be more ridiculous and more mad than his master ; several 
other persons were at that time of the same mind. 

At last Don Quixote became calm, and dinner ended. While 
the cloth was removing, there entered four damsels, one with a 
silver ewer, another with a basin, of silver also, a third with two 
fine clean towels over her shoulders, and the fourth tucked up to 
her elbows, and, in her white hands (for doubtless they were white), 
a ball of Naples soap. She with the basin drew near, and, with a 
genteel air and assurance, clapped it under the beard of Don Quixote, 
who, without speaking a word, and wondering at the ceremony, 
believed it to be the custom of that country to wash beards instead 
of hands. He therefore stretched out his own as far as he could, 
and instantly the ewer began to rain upon him, and the damsel with 
the soap to hurry over his beard with great dexterity of hand, 
raising great flakes of snow (for the lathering was not less wliite) 
not only over the beard, but over the whole face and eyes of the 
obedient knight, insomuch that it made him shut them, whether he 
would or not. The duke and duchess, who knew nothing of all 
this, sat in expectation of the end of this extraordinary lavation. 
The barber -damsel having raised alatlier a handi'ul high, pretended 



that the water was all spent, and ordered the girl with the ewer to 
fetch more, telling her Signor Don Quixote would stay till she 
came back. She did so, and Don Quixote remained the strangest 
and most ridiculous figure imaginable. All that were present, being 
many, had their eyes fixed on him, and seeing him with a neck half an 
ell long, more than moderately swarthy, his eyes shut and his beard 
all in a lather, it was a great wonder that they forebore laughing. 
The damsels concerned in the jest held down their eyes, not daring 
to look at their lord and lady. The latter were divided between 
anger and laughter, not knowing what to do, whether to chastise 
the girls for their boldness, or reward them for the pleasure they 
took in beholding Don Quixote in that pickle. 

At last the damsel of the ewer came, and they made an end of 
washing Don Quixote ; then she who carried the towels wiped and 
dried him with much deliberation ; and all four at once, making 
him a profound reverence, were going oflT; but the duke, in order 

that Don Quixote might not smell the jest, called the damsel with 
the basin, saying: "Come and wash me too, and take care you have 
water enough." The arch and diligent young lady came, and clapped 




the basin to the duke's chin, as she had done to Don Quixote's, very 
expeditiously washed and lathered him well, and, leaving him clean 
and dry, they made their coiirtesies and quitted the apartment. 
It was afterwards known that the duke had sworn that, had they 
not washed him as they did Don Quixote, he would have punished 
them for their pertness, which they, however, discreetly made 
amends for, by serving him in the same manner *^9. 

Sancho was very attentive to the ceremonies of this washing. 
" God be my guide," said he to himself, "is it the custom of this 
place to wash the beards of squires as well as of knights ? On my 
conscience and soul, I need it much, and if they wall give me the 
stroke of a razor, I should take it for a still greater favour." 
"What are you saying to yourself, Sancho? " demanded the duchess, 
" I say, madam," answered Sancho, " that in other princes' courts, 
I have always heard say that, when the cloth is taken away, they 
bring water to wash hands, and not suds to scour beards ; therefore, one 
must live long to see much. It is also said that he who lives a long 
life must pass through many evils ; though one of these same scour- 
ings is rather a pleasure than a pain." — " Take no care, friend 
Sancho," said the duchess, " I will order my damsels to wash you 
too, and lay you a bucking, if need be." — " For the present I shall 
be satisfied as to my beard," answered Sancho ; " for the rest, God 
will provide hereafter." — " Hark you, sewer," said the duchess, 
"mind what honest Sancho desires, and do precisely as he would 
have you." The sewer answered that signor Sancho should be 
punctually obeyed. Thereupon, away he went to dinner, taking 
Sancho with him, the duke and duchess remaining at table with 
Don Quixote, discoursing of sundry and divers matters, all relating 
to the profession of arms and knight-errantry. 

The duchess entreated Don Quixote, since he seemed to have so 
happy a memory, to delineate and describe the beauty and features 
of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso ; and her grace added that, if what 
fame proclaimed of her beauty was true, she took it for granted that 

*'^ In the Miscelánea of Don Luis Zapata there is the recital of a similar trick 
played on a Portuguese gentleman at the residence of the count Benaventa. Hcnct 
perhaps Cervantes took the idea of the trick played on Don Quixote. 


Dulcinea must be the fairest creature in the world, and even in all 
La Mancha. Don Quixote sighed at hearing the duchess's request, 
and answered: "If I could pull out my heart, and lay it before your 
grandeur's eyes here upon the table in a dish, I might save my 
tongue the trouble of telling what can hardly be conceived, for 
there your excellency would see her painted to the life. But why 
should I go about to delineate and describe one by one the perfec- 
tions of the peerless Dulcinea ? Oh ! it is a burden fitter for other 
shoulders than mine, an enterprise worthy to employ the pencils of 
Parrhasius, Timantes and Apelles, to paint them on canvass and on 
wood; the burins of Lysippus to engrave them on marble and 
brass ; Ciceronian and Demosthenean rhetoric to praise them 
worthily." — " What is the meaning of Demosthenean, signor Don 
Quixote ?" demanded the duchess : " it is a word I never heard in all 
the days of my life." — *' Demosthenean rhetoric," answered Don 
Quixote, " is as much as to say the rhetoric of Demosthenes, as 
Ciceronian of Cicero, who were, in effect, the two greatest orators and 
rhetoricians in the world." — " That is true," said the duke, "and you 
betrayed your ignorance in asking such a question. But, for all 
that, signor Don Quixote would give us a great deal of pleasure in 
painting her to us. Though it be but a rough draught or sketch 
only, doubtless she will appear such as the most beautiful may envy." 
" So she would, most certainly," answered Don Quixote, " had not 
the misfortune which lately befell her blotted her idea out of my 
mind ; such a misfortune that I am in a condition rather to bewail 
than to describe her. Your grandeurs must know that, going a few 
days ago to kiss her hands and receive her benediction, commands 
and licence for this third sally, I found her quite another person 
than her I sought for. I found her enchanted and metamorphosed 
from a princess into a country wench, from beautiful to ugly, from 
an angel to a devil, from fragrant to pestiferous, from courtly to 
rustic, from light to darkness, from a sober lady to a jumping Joan, 
from Dulcinea del Toboso to a clownish wench." — " Holy virgin!" 
cried the duke in a loud voice, " who may it be that has done 
so much mischief to the world ? who is it that has deprived it of 
the beauty that cheered it, the good humour that entertained it, 


the modesty that did it honour ? " — " Who ? " answered Don 
Quixote ; " who could it be but some malicious enchanter of the 
many that persecute me ; one of that cursed race, born into the 
world to obscure and annihilate the exploits of the good, and to 
brighten and exalt the actions of the wicked ? Enchanters have 
hitherto persecuted me, enchanters still persecute me, and enchan- 
ters will continue to persecute me until they have tumbled me and 
my lofty chivalries into the profound abyss of oblivion. They 
hurt and wound me in the most sensible part ; for, to deprive a 
knight-errant of his mistress, is to deprive him of the eyes he sees 
with, the sun that enlightens him, and the food that sustains him. 
I have already often said it, and now repeat it, that a knight-errant 
without a mistress is like a tree without leaves, a building without 
cement, a shadow without a body that causes it." — " There is no 
more to be said," interrupted the duchess ; " but for all that, if we 
are to believe the history of signor Don Quixote, lately published 
with the general applause of all nations *^^, we are to collect from 
thence, if I remember right, that your worship never saw the lady 
Dulcinea ; that there is no such lady in the world ; that she is only 
an imaginary lady, begotten and born of your own brain, and 
dressed out with all the graces and perfections you pleased." 
"There is a great deal to be said upon this subject," answered Don 
Quixote : " God knows whether there be a Dulcinea or not in the 
world, and whether she be imaginary or not imaginary ; and this is 
one of those things the proof whereof should not be too nicely 
inquired into. I neither begot nor brought forth my mistress, but 
I contemplate her as a lady endowed with all those qualifications 
which may make her famous over the whole world, as beautiful without 
a blemish, grave without pride, amorous with modesty, obliging as 
being courteous, and courteous as being well-bred ; finally, of high 
descent, because beauty shines and displays itself with greater 
degrees of perfection when matched with noble blood than in 

•**• In several passages of the second part of his book, Cervantes strives to 
correct it with the first ; and with this view he supposes between them, not a lapse 
of ten years, but only an interval of a few days. 


subjects that are mean of extraction." — " True," said the duke; "but 
signor Don Quixote must give me leave to say v^^hat the history of 
his exploits forces me to speak. We must thence infer that, sup- 
posing it be allowed that there is a Dulcinea in or out of Toboso, 
and that she is beautiful in the highest degree, as your worship 
describes her to us, it must, I say, be inferred that, in respect of 
high descent, she is not upon a level with the Orianas, the Alastra- 
jareas, Madasimas*^!, and a hundred others of the same sort, of 
whom the histories are full, as your worship well knows." — " To 
this I can answer," replied Don Quixote, "that Dulcinea is the 
daughter of her own works, that virtue ennobles blood, and that a 
virtuous person, though mean, is more to be valued than a vicious 
person of quality. Besides, Dulcinea has endowments which may 
raise her to be a queen with crown and sceptre ; for the merit of a 
beautiful virtuous woman extends to the working of greater mira- 
cles, and though not formally, yet virtually she has in herself greater 
advantages in store." — " I say, signor Don Quixote," retorted the 
duchess, " that you tread with great caution, and, as the saying is, 
with the plummet in hand. For my own part, henceforward I will 
believe, and make all my family believe, and even my lord duke if 
need be, that there is a Dulcinea in Toboso, that she is this day 
living and beautiful, that she is especially well born, and well deserv- 
ing that such a knight as signor Don Quixote should be her servant, 
which is the highest commendation I can bestow on her. But I 
cannot forbear entertaining one scruple, and bearing a little grudge 
to Sancho Panza. The scruple is, that the aforesaid history relates 
that the said Sancho Panza found the said lady Dulcinea, when he 
carried her a letter from your worship, winnowing a sack of wheat, 
by the same token it says it was red, which makes me doubt the 
highness of her birth." — " Madam," answered Don Quixote, "your 
grandeur must know that most or all the things which befell me 
exceed the ordinary bounds, and what happens to other knights- 
errant, whether directed by the inscrutable will of the destinies, or 

*^^ Oriana, the mistress of Amadis of Gaul ; Alastrajarea, the daughter of Amadis 
of Greece and queen Zalara; and Madasima, daughter of Famongomadan, the 
Giant of the Boiling Lake, are ladies of chivalric creation. 


ordered through the malice of some envious enchanter. It is already 
acknowledged as an established fact, that most of the famous 
knights-errant have some particular virtue : one is privileged from 
being subject to the pov^er of enchantment; another's flesh is so 
impenetrable that he cannot be wounded, as was the case of the 
renowned Orlando, one of the twelve peers of France, of whom it is 
related that he was invulnerable, except in the sole of his left foot, 
and in that only by the point of a great pin, but by no other weapon 
whatever. So that, when Bernardo del Carpió killed him in Ron- 
cesvalles, perceiving he could not wound him with steel, he hoisted 
him from the ground between his arras and squeezed him to death, 
recollecting the manner in which Hercules slew Antaeus, that fierce 
giant who was said to be a son of the earth. I would infer fiom 
what I have said, that perhaps I may have some one of those privi- 
leges ; not that of being invulnerable, for experience has often 
shown me that I am made of tender flesh and by no means impene- 
trable ; nor that of not being subject to enchantment, for I have 
already found myself clapped into a cage, in which the whole world 
could never have been able to shut me up, had it not been by force 
of enchantments. But, since I freed myself, I am inclined to 
believe no other can touch me. Therefore, these enchanters, seeing 
they cannot practise their wicked artifices upon my person, revenge 
themselves upon what I love best, and have a mind to take away my 
life by evil entreating Dulcinea, in whom and for whom I live. 
Therefore, I am of opinion that, when my squire carried her my 
message, they had transformed her into a country wench busied in 
the mean employment of winnowing wheat. But I have before 
said that the wheat was not red, nor, indeed, wheat at all, but grains 
of oriental pearl. For proof of this fact, I must tell your grandeurs 
that, coming lately through Toboso, I could not find Dulcinea's 
palace ; and that the next day, while Sancho, my squire, saw in her 
own proper figure, the most beautiful on the globe, to me she 
appeared a coarse ugly country wench, and not well-spoken, whereas 
she is discretion itself. Since, therefore, I neither am nor in all 
likelihood can be enchanted, she it is who is enchanted, injured, 
metamorphosed and transformed ; in her my enemies have revenged 


themselves on me, and for her I shall live in perpetual tears, until 
I see her restored to her former state. All this I have said, that no 
stress may be laid upon what Sancho told of Dulcinea's sifting and 
winnowing, for, since to me she was changed, no wonder if she 
was metamorphosed to him. Dulcinea is well born, of quality, and 
of the genteel families of Toboso, which are many, ancient and very 
good. No doubt the peerless Dulcinea has a large share in them, 
for whom her town will be famous and renowned in the ages to 
come, as Troy was for Helen, and Spain has been for Cava^^^^ 
though upon better grounds and a juster title. On the other hand, 
I would have your grandeurs understand that Sancho Panza is one 
of the most ingenious squires that ever served knight-errant. He 
has, at times, certain simplicities so acute, that it is no small pleasure 
to consider whether he has in him most of the simple or subtile ; he 
has roguery enough to pass for a knave, and negligence enough to 
confirm him a dunce ; he doubts of everything and believes every- 
thing ; and, when I imagine he is falling headlong into stupidity, he 
lets fall such smart sayings as raise him to the skies. In short, I 
would not exchange him for any other squire, though a city were 
given me to boot. Therefore, I am in doubt whether I shall do 
well to send him to the government your grandeur has favoured 
him with ; though I perceive in him such an aptitude in the business 
of governing that, with a little polishing of his understanding, he 
would be as much master of that art as the king is of his customs. 
Besides, we already know, by sundry experiences, that there is 
neither need of much ability nor of much learning to be a governor, 
for there are a hundred of them up and down that can scarcely read, 
and yet govern as sharply as so many hawks. The main point is 
that their intentions be good, and that they desire to do everything 
right. There will never be wanting counsellors to advise and direct 
them in what they are to do, like your governors who, being 
swordsmen and not scholars, have an assistant on the bench. My 
counsel to him would be, all bribes to refuse, but insist on his dues ; 

^^ The name given by the Arabian chronicles to Florinda, daughter of Count 
Don Julian. 



with some other little matters which lie in my breast, and which I will 
communicate in proper time for Sancho's benefit and the good of 
the island he is to govern." 

Thus far had the duke, the duchess and Don Quixote proceeded 
in their discourse, when they heard several voices and a great 
noise in the palace ; all at once Sancho rushed into the hall, all in 

a chafe, with a dish-clout pinned round his neck instead of a napkin, 
followed by a parcel of kitchen-boys and scullions, one of them 
carrying a tray full of water, which, by its colour and uncleanness, 
seemed to be dish-water. This scullion followed and persecuted 
Sancho, endeavouring with all earnestness to fix it under his chin, 
and another scullion seemed as solicitous to wash his beard. " What 



is the matter brothers ? " asked the duchess ; " what is the matter, 
and what would you do to this good man ? What ! do you not 
consider that he is a governor elect ? " The barber answered : 
" Madam, this gentleman will not suffer himself to be washed, as 
is the custom, and as our lord the duke and his master have been." 
" Yes, I will," answ^ered Sancho, in great wrath ; " but I would 
have cleaner towels and cleaner suds, and not such filthy hands ; 
for there is no such difference between me and my master, that he 
should be washed with angel's water ^^3, and I with the devil's ley. 
The customs of countries and of prince's palaces are good so far as 
they are not troublesome ; but this custom of scouring here is 
worse than that of the whipping penitents. My beard is clean, 
and I have no need of such refreshings. Whoever offers to scour 
me or touch a hair of my head, I mean of my beard, with due 
reverence be it spoken, I will give him such a dowse that I will set 
my fist fast in his skull ; for such ceremonies and soapings as these 
look more like jibes than courtesy to guests." 

The duchess was convulsed with laughter to see the rage and hear 
the reasoning of Sancho. But Don Quixote was not over pleased 
to see his squire so accoutred with the greasy dish-clout, and sur- 
rounded with such a kitchen-tribe. So, making a low bow to the 
duke and duchess, as if begging leave to speak, he turned to the rabble 
and said vdth a solemn voice: "Ho! gentlemen cavaliers, be pleased 
to let the young man alone, and return whence you came, or to any 
other place you list. My squire is as clean as another man, and 
these trays are as painful to him as a narrow-necked jug. Take my 
advice and let him alone, for neither he nor I understand jesting." 
Sancho caught the words out of his master's mouth, and proceeded, 
saying: "No! no! let them go on with their jokes; I will endure 
it as much as it is now night. Let them bring hither a comb or 
what else they please, and let them curry this beard, and if they 

^^ A very popular perfume in Cervantes' time was so called. Angel's water {aqua 
de angeles) was composed of the essence of red roses, trefoil, lavender, honey-suckle, 
orange-flower, thyme, lilies, pinks and oranges. 

PART II. — CHAP. XXXIl. 123 

find anything in it that offends against cleanliness, let them shear 
me cross-wise." 

The duchess, still laughing, now said : " Sancho Panza is in the 
right in whatever he has said, and will be so in whatever he shall 
say. He is clean, and, as he says, needs no washing ; and if he is 
not pleased with our custom, his soul is in his hand. Besides, 
you ministers of cleanliness have been extremely remiss and 
careless — I may say presumptuous — in bringing to such a per- 
sonage and such a beard your trays and dish-clouts, instead of ewers 
and basins of pure gold and towels of Dutch diaper. But, in short, 
you are a parcel of ill-born scoundrels, and cannot forbear shewing 
the grudge you bear to the squires of knights-errant." The roguish 
servants, and even the sewer who came with them, believed that the 
duchess spoke in earnest. They hastened to take Sancho's dish- 
clout off his neck, and, confused and ashamed, left Sancho and 
slunk out of the apartment. 

When Sancho found himself thus rid of what he thought an 
imminent danger, he went and kneeled before the duchess, and said: 
" From great folks great favours are to be expected. That which 
your ladyship has done me to-day cannot be repaid with less than 
the desire of seeing myself dubbed a knight-errant, that I may 
employ all the days of my life in the service of so high a lady. A 
peasant I am, Sancho Panza is my name, I am married, I have 
children, and serve as a squire. If in any one of these things I 
can be serviceable to your grandeur, I shall not be slower in 
obeying than your ladyship in commanding." — " It appears plainly, 
Sancho," answered the duchess, " that you have learned to be cour- 
teous in the school of courtesy itself; it is evident, I would say, that 
you have been bred in the bosom of signor Don Quixote, who must 
needs be the cream of complaisance and the flower of ceremony, or 
cirimony as you say. Well fare such a master and such a man ! 
the one the pole-star of knight-errantry, and the other the 
bright luminary of squirely fidelity. Rise up, friend Sancho, 
and I will make you amends for your civility, by prevailing upon 
my lord duke to perform, as soon as possible, the promise he has 
made you of the govenuncut." 



Thus ended the conversation, and Don Quixote went to take his 
siesta. The duchess invited Sancho, if he had not an inclination to 
sleep, to pass the afternoon with her and her damsels, in a very cool 
hall. Sancho answered that, though, indeed, he was wont to sleep four 
or five hours a day during the afternoon heats of the summer, yet, to 



wait upon her goodness, he would endeavour, with all his might, not 
to sleep at all that day, and would be obedient to her commands : so 
away he went. The duke gave fresh orders about treating Don 
Quixote as a knight-errant, without deviating a tittle from the style 
in which we read the knights of former times were treated. 





N continuation, the history pro- 
ceeds to relate that Sancho Panza 
did not indulge in his accustomed 
siesta that afternoon, but, to keep 
his word, he went directly he had 
dined to see the duchess, who, 
delighted to hear him talk, made 
him sit down by her on a low stool, though Sancho, out of pure good 
manners, would have declined seating himself in her presence. But 
the duchess told him to sit down as a governor, and talk as a squire, 
since, in both those capacities, he deserved the very arm chair of the 
Cid Ruy Dias the Campeador ^^*. Sancho shrugged up his shoulders, 
obeyed and sat down. All the duchess's damsels and duennas gathered 
round about him, in profound silence, to hear what he would say. 

^** This arm chair of the Cid (escaño, bench with back,) is the one which he won 
at Valencia, according to his chronicle, from the grandson of Aly Mamoun, a 
Moorish king of that country. 



But the duchess spoke first : " Now that we are alone and that 
nobody hears us," said she, " I would willingly be satisfied by signor 

Governor, as to some doubts which arose in my mind on my perusal 
of the printed history of the great Don Quixote. Tlie first of these 
doubts is that, since honest Sancho never saw Dulcinea, 1 mean the 



lady Dulcinea del Toboso, nor carried her Don Quixote's letter, it 
being left in the pocket-book in the Sierra Morena, how durst he 
feign the answer and the story of his finding her winnowing wheat, 
it being all a sham and a fiction, so much to the prejudice of the 
good character of the peerless Dulcinea, and so unbecoming the 
quality and fidelity of a trusty squire ? " At these words, without 
making any reply, Sancho rose from his seat, and, with stealthy steps, 

his body bent and his finger on his lips, he crept round the room 
carefully lifting up the hangings. That done, he resumed his seat and 
said: "Now, madam, that I am sure that nobody but the company 
hears us, I will answer without fear or emotion to all you have asked, 
and to all you shall ask me. The first thing I have to tell you is, that I 
take my master Don Quixote for a downright madman, though 
sometimes he says things which, to my thinking and in the opinion 
of all that hear him, are so discreet, so well put together, that Satan 
himself could not speak better. Yet, notwithstanding all that, in 
good truth and without any doubt, I am firmly persuaded that he is 

PART ir, — CHAP. XXXIII. 129 

mad ; and since that thought has entered my mind, I dare under- 
take to make him believe anything that has neither head nor tail, 
like the business of the answer to the letter, and another affair of 
some six or eight days' standing, which is not yet in print, I mean 
the enchantment of my mistress Donna Dulcinea of Toboso ; for I 
made him believe she was enchanted, though it was a cock and bull 
story of my own invention from beginning to end." 

The duchess requested him to relate to her the particulars of this 
enchantment or mystification, and Sancho recounted the whole 
exactly as it had passed, at which the hearers were not a little 
pleased. Then the duchess, proceeding in her discourse, said: 
" From what honest Sancho has just told me, a certain scruple has 
started into my head, and something whispers me in the ear : * Since 
Don Quixote de la Mancha is a fool, an idiot and a madman, and 
Sancho Panza, his squire, knows it, and yet serves and follows him, 
and relies on his vain promises, without doubt he must be more mad 
and more stupid than his master. This being really the case, it will 
turn to bad account, lady duchess, if to such a Sancho Panza you 
give an island to govern ; for how should he who knows not how to 
govern himself know how to govern others ? " — " By my faith, 
madam," cried Sancho, " this same scruple comes in the nick of time. 
Please your ladyship to bid it speak out plain and as it lists, for I 
know it says true, and, had I been wise, I should have left my mas- 
ter long ere now. But such was my lot and evil destiny. I can do 
no more ; follow him I must : we are both of the same place, T have 
eaten his bread, I love him ; he returns my kindness, he gave me his 
ass-colts, and above all I am faithful. Therefore it is impossible any- 
thing should part us but the sexton's spade and shovel. If your highness 
has no mind the government you promised should be given me, God 
made me of less, and it may be the not giving it me may redound to 
the benefit of my conscience. As great a fool as I am, I understand 
the proverb which says : * the pismire had wings to her hurt.' Per- 
haps it may be easier for Sancho the squire to get to heaven than 
for Sancho the governor; they make as good bread here as in 
France, and all cats are grey in the dark ; unhappy is he who has 
not breakfasted at three ; no stomach is a span bigger than another, 




and may not be filled, as they say, with straw or with hay ; of the 
little birds in the air, God himself takes the care, and four yards of 
coarse cloth of Cuen9a are warmer than as many of fine Segovia 
serge ; at our leaving this world and going into the next, the prince 
travels in as narrow a path as the day-labourer, and the pope's body 
takes up no more room than the sexton's, though the one be higher 
than the other, for, when we come to the grave, we must all shrink 
and lie close, or be made to shrink and lie close in spite of us, and 
so good night. Therefore, I say again, that if your ladyship will not 
give me the island because I am a fool, I will be so wise as not to 
care a fig for it. I have heard say that the devil lurks behind the 

cross, and all is not gold that glitters ; I have also heard say that 
Wamba, the husbandman *^s, was taken from among his ploughs, 
his yokes and oxen to be king of Spain, and that king Rodrigo ^^^ 
was taken from his brocades, pastimes and riches, to be devoured 

'*^ Wamba reigned over Gothic Spain from 672 to 680. 

^^ Roderic, the last Gothic king, who was conquered by Thárik at the Castle of 
Guadalete, in 711 or 712. 


by snakes, if ancient romances do not lie." — " How should they lie ?" 
cried the duenna Rodriguez, who was one of the auditors ; " there 
is a romance which tells us that king Rodrigo was shut up alive in 

a tomb full of toads, snakes and lizards, and that, two days after, the 
king said, from within the tomb, with a mournful and low voice : 
" Now they gnaw me, now they gnaw me in the part by which I 
sinned most*^7. According to this, the gentleman has a great deal 
of reason to say he would rather be a peasant than a king, if such 
vermin must eat him up." 

The duchess could not forbear laughing to hear the simplicity of 
her duenna, nor admiring to hear the reasonings and proverbs of 
Sancho. " Honest Sancho knows full well," said she to the latter, 
" that whatever a knight once promises, he endeavours to perform, 
though it cost him his life. The duke, my lord and husband, though 
he is not of the errant order, is nevertheless a knight. Therefore, 
he will make good his word as to the promised island, in spite of 
the envy and the wickedness of the world. Let Sancho be of 
good cheer ; when he least thinks of it, he shall find himself seated 
in the chair of state of his island and of his territory, and shall so 
handle his government as soon to gain a second and richer one. 
What I charge him, is to take heed how he governs his vassals, 
remembering that they are all loyal and well-born." — ** As to 
governing them well," answered Sancho, "there is no need of giving 

*'^ Ya me comen, ya me comen 

Por do mas pecado habia. 

The verses do not stand precisely thus in the romance of the Penitence of king 
Rodrigo. (Vide the Cancionero General of ir)55, vol. xvi., page 128.) They were 
doubtless altered by being handed from mouth to mouth. 



me advice upon that score, for I am naturally charitable and com- 
passionate to the poor. None will dare the loaf to steal from him 
that sifts and kneads the meal. But, by my beads, they shall put no 
false dice upon me : I am an old dog and understand trap ; I know 
how to snuif my eyes in proper time, and will not suifer cobwebs to 
blind me, for I know where the shoe pinches. All this I say, 
that the good may be sure to have me both heart and hand, and the 
bad neither foot nor footing. In my opinion, the whole business of 
governing lies in the beginning, and when I have been fifteen days 
a governor, perhaps I may know more of the art of government than 
of the labour of the field, to which I was bred." — " You are in the 
right, Sancho," said the duchess; "nobody is born learned, and 
bishops are made of men, and not of stones. But, to resume the 
discourse we were just now upon, concerning the enchantment of 
the lady Dulcinea, I am very certain that Sancho's design of putting 
a trick upon his master, by making him believe that the country 
wench was Dulcinea, and that, if his master did not know her, it 
must proceed from her being enchanted ; I say I feel quite convinced 
that it was all a contrivance of some one or other of the enchanters 
who persecute signor Don Quixote. In good truth, I know from 
excellent authority that the wench who jumped upon the ass really 
was Dulcinea del Toboso, and that honest Sancho, in thinking he 
was the deceiver, was himself deceived. There is no more doubt of 
this truth than of things we never saw. Signor Sancho Panza must 
know that here also we have our enchanters who love us, and who tell 
us plainly and sincerely, without any tricks or devices, all that passes 
in the world. Believe me, Sancho, the jumping wench was Dulcinea 
del Toboso, who is enchanted hke the mother that bore her; when 
we least think of it, we shall see her in her own proper form, and 
then Sancho will be convinced of the mistake he now lives in." — 
"All this may very well be," cried Sancho Panza; "and now I 
begin to believe what my master told of the cavern of Montesinos, 
where he pretends he saw the lady Dulcinea del Toboso in the very 
same dress and garb I said I had seen her in, when I enchanted her 
for my own pleasure alone. Whereas, your good ladyship says this 
must have been quite otherwise, for it cannot and must not be 


presumed that my poor invention should in an instant start so cunning 
a device, nor do I believe my master is such a madman as to credit 
so extravagant a thing upon no better a voucher than myself. 
However, madam, your goodness ought not therefore to look upon 
me as an ill-designing person, for a dunce like me is not obliged to 
penetrate into the thoughts and crafty intentions of wicked enchan- 
ters. I invented that story to escape the upbraidings of my master, 
and not with design to offend him ; if it has fallen out otherwise, 
God is in heaven who judges the heart." — " Nothing is more true," 
said the duchess ; "but tell me Sancho, what is it you were saying of 
the cavern of Montesinos ? I should be glad to know it." Then 
Sancho related, with all its circumstances, what has been said con- 
cerning that adventure. 

When the duchess heard the conclusion of Sancho's recital: "We 
may infer from this event," said she, "that since the great Don 
Quixote says he saw the very same country wench whom Sancho 
met coming out of Toboso, it is Dulcinea, beyond all doubt, and that 
the enchanters hereabouts are very busy and excessively curious." — 
" For my part," returned Sancho, " I say that, if my lady Dulcinea 
del Toboso be enchanted, so much the worse for her ; I do not think 
myself bound to engage with my master's enemies, who must needs 
be many and malicious. True it is that she I saw was a country 
wench ; for such I took her, and such I judged her to be, and if she 
was Dulcinea, it is not to be placed to my account. It would be 
fine indeed if I must be called in question at every turn with, * Sancho 
said it,' * Sancho did it,' * Sancho came back,' ' Sancho returned,* as if 
Sancho were who they would, and not that very Sancho Panza 
handed about in print all the world over, as Sampson Carrasco told 
me, who is at least a candidate to be a bachelor at Salamanca ; and 
such persons cannot lie, excepting when they have a mind to it, or 
when it turns to good account. There is therefore no reason why 
anybody should ñdl upon me ; and since I have a good name — and, 
as I liave heard my master say, a good name is better than riches — 
case me in this same government, and you will see wonders ; for a good 
s(][uire will make a good governor." — "All that honest Sancho has 
now said," responded the duchess, " are Catonian sentences, or at 



least extracted from the very marrow of Michael Verino himself, 
'Jlorentibus occidit annis''^^^. In short, to speak in his own way, a 
bad cloak often covers a good drinker." — " Truly, madam," answered 
Sancho, " I never in my life drank for any bad purpose ; for thirst 
it may be 1 have, for I am no hypocrite. I drink when I have a mind, 
and when it is given me, not to be thought shy or ill-bred. When 
a friend drinks to one, who can be so hard-hearted as not to pledge 
him ? But, though I put on the shoes, I do not dirty them. Besides, 
the squires of knights-errant most commonly drink water, for they 
are always wandering about woods, forests, meadows, mountains and 
craggy rocks, without meeting the poorest pittance of vdne, though 
they would give an eye for it." — " I believe so too," added the 
duchess; "but, for the present, go, Sancho, and repose yourself. 
We will hereafter talk more at large, and order shall speedily be 
given about casing you, as you call it, in the government." 

Sancho again kissed the duchess's hand, and begged of her as a 
favour that good care might be taken of his Dapple, which was 
the light of his eyes. " What Dapple ? " demanded the duchess. 
" My ass," replied Sancho, " for, to avoid calling him by that 
name, I sometimes call him Dapple. I desired this mistress 
duenna here, when I first came into the castle, to take care of him ; 
but she was very angry, as if I had said she was ugly or old, 
though in faith, it should be more proper and natural for duennas 
to dress asses than to set off drawing-rooms. God be my help ! 
how ill a gentleman of our town agreed with these madams ! " — 
" He must have been some country clown like yourself," cried 
Donna Rodriguez, " for, had he been a gentleman and well born, 
he would have placed them above the horns of the moon." — 
" Enough, enough," said the duchess, " let us have no more of 
this ; peace, Donna Rodriguez, and you, signor Panza, be quiet. 

<^ Miguel Verino, of Majorca, was the author of the little elementary book, 
entitled : Be Puerorum Moribus Disticha, anciently in use in schools. Cervantes, 
who doubtless had to explain Verino's distiques in his class, at his master's, Juan 
Lopez de Hoyos, remembered also his epitaph, composed by Angelo Policiano, which 
began thus : 

Michael Verinus Florentibus occidit annis, 
Moribus ambiguum major, an ingenio, etc. 



Leave the care of your Dapple to me, and since he is a jewel of 
Sancho's, I will lay him upon the apple of my eye." — "It will he 
sufficient for him to lie in the stable," answered Sancho, " for upon 
the apple of your grandeur's eye, neither he nor I are worthy to lie 
one single moment ; I would no more consent to it than I would 
poniard myself. Though my master says, that in complaisance, we 
should rather lose the game by a card too much than too little, yet 
when the business is asses and eyes, we should go with compass in 
hand *^9," — " Carry him, Sancho," said the duchess, ** to your 
government ; there you may regale him as you please, and turn 
him out to grass." — " Think not, my lady duchess, you have 
spoken in jest," said Sancho; " I have seen more than two asses go 
to governments, and, if I should carry mine, it would be no new 
thing." Sancho's reasonings renewed the duchess's laughter and 
satisfaction. Having dismissed him to his repose, she went to give 
the duke an account of what had passed between them. They 
devised together the means of putting a famous jest upon Don 
Quixote, which should be perfectly consonant to the style of 
knight-errantry, in which style they played him many, so proper 
and so ingenious, that they are assuredly the best incidents contained 
in this grand history. 

** Sancho was doubtless thinking of this proverb : " If you play with the ass, 
he will thrust his tail in your face " 





MMENSE was the plea- 
sure the duke and 
duchess received from 
the conversation of Don 
Quixote and Sancho 
Panza. But what the 
duchess most wondered 
at, was that Sancho 
should be so very sim- 

pie as to believe for 

certain that Dulcinea del Toboso was enchanted, he himself 
having been the enchanter and impostor in that business. Persisting 
in the design they had of playing their guests some tricks which 
should savour mightily of adventures, they took a hint from what 
Don Quixote had already told them of the cavern of Montesinos 
to dress up a famous one *9^. Having instructed their servants how 
they were to behave, at the end of six days they carried Don 
Quixote hunting, with a train of hunters and huntsmen, not 

490 -^^ Viardot says in this place : " I have transposed the two preceding phrases in 
order to place them in the natural order of the events ; and I believe that, in so 
doing, I have only corrected an error of the press, committed in the first edition of 
Don Quia;ote." The English editor has followed his example, Jarvis having trans- 
lated the sentences as they stand in the original. 


inferior to that of a crowned head. They gave him a hunting- 
suit, and Sancho another, of the finest green cloth. Don Quixote 
would not put his on, nor accept it, saying he must shortly return 
to the severe exercise of arms, and that he could not carry a 
wardrobe about him. But Sancho took what was given him, 
with a design to sell it the first opportunity he should have. 

The expected day being come, Don Quixote armed himself; 
Sancho put on his new suit and mounted his donkey, which he 
would not quit though they ofíered him a horse, and thrust himself 
amidst the troop of hunters. The duchess issued forth, magnificently 
dressed, and Don Quixote, out of pure politeness and civility, held 
the reins of her palfrey *9i, though the duke would hardly consent 
to it. At last they came to a wood, situated between two very high 
mountains ; then, posting themselves in places where the toils were 
to be pitched, and all the company having taken their different 
stands, the hunt began with a great hallooing and noise, insomuch 
that they could not hear one another, as well for the cry of the 
hounds as the winding of the horns. The duchess alighted, and, 
with a sharp spear ^^^ in her hand, took her stand in a place where 
she knew wild boars used to pass. The duke and Don Quixote 
alighted also, and placed themselves by her side. Sancho planted 
himself in the rear of them all, without alighting from his ass, which 
he durst not quit lest some mischance should befall him. 

Scarcely were they on foot and ranged in order, with several of 
the servants round them, when they perceived an enormous boar, 
pursued by the dogs and followed by the hunters, making towards 
them, grinding his teeth and tusks and tossing foam from his 
mouth. When Don Quixote saw him, he braced his shield, and, 

•^ This kind of politeness to ladies was not exclusively used in books of chivalry, 
in which, however, numerous instances of it occur. Mariana relates that when the 
Infanta Isabella, after the treaty of loa Toros de Guisando, which settled on her the 
crown of Spain, appeared in the streets of Segovia, in 1474, King Henry IV., her 
brother, held the reins of her palfrey to do her honour. 

^'^ In Spanish venabh. This was the name of a sort of javelin, shorter than a 
lance, used in wild boar hunting. 



laying his hand to his sword, stepped before the rest to receive him. 
The duke did the like with his javelin in his hand, and the duchess 
would have advanced before them, had not the duke prevented her. 

Only Sancho, at sight of the fierce animal, quitted his ass and ran 
away as fast as he could ; he then endeavoured to climb up into a 
tall oak, but did not succeed ; for when he got about half-way 
up, as he was holding by a bough and striving to mount to the top, 
the bough unfortunately broke, and, in tumbling down, he remained 
in the air, suspended to the stump of the branch, without coming to 
the ground. Finding himself in this situation, feeling that the 
green loose coat was tearing, and considering that, if the furious 
animal came that way, he should be within his reach, be began to 
cry out so loud, and to call for help so violently, that all who heard 



him and did not see him thought verily he was between the teeth 
of some wild beast. 

Finally, the long-tusked boar was laid his length by the points of 
the many boar-spears levelled at him, and Don Quixote, turning 
his head about at Sancho's cries, (by which he knew him,) saw him 
hanging from the oak with his head downward, and close by him his 
donkey, which deserted him not in his calamity. And Cid Hamet 
says he seldom saw Sancho Panza without his ass, or Dapple with- 
out Sancho ; such was the amity and cordial love maintained 
between them. Don Quixote went and disengaged Sancho, who, 
finding himself freed and upon the ground, examined the rent in his 
hunting-suit, wliich grieved him to the soul, for he fancied he 
possessed in that suit an inheritance in fee-simple. 



They laid the mighty boar across a sumpter-mule, and, having 
covered it with branches of rosemary and myrtle, they carried it, as 
the spoil of victory, to a large field-tent erected in the middle of the 
vi^ood. There they found the tables ranged in order, and dinner set 
out so sumptuously and grand, that it easily discovered the greatness 
and magnificence of the donors. 

Sancho, shevi^ing the vi^ounds of his torn garment to the duchess : 
" Had this been a hare-hunting," said he, " or a fowling for small 
birds, my coat had been safe from the extremity it is now in. I 
really do not understand what pleasure there can be in waiting for 
a beast which, if he reaches you with a tusk, may cost you your life. 
I remember the verse of an old romance which says : 

• May Fabila's sad doom be thine. 
And hungry bears upon thee dine/ " — 

" He was a Gothic king *93^" s^id Don Quixote, " who, going to 

493 Favila was not exactly a Gothic king. He was the successor of Pelagius in 
Asturias. His reign, or rather his command, lasted from 737 to 739. 



hunt wild beasts in the mountains, was devoured by a bear." — 
" What I say," answered Sancho, " is that I would not have princes 
and kings run themselves into such dangers, merely for their 
pleasure, which methinks ought not to be so, since it consists in 
killing a creature that has not conunitted any fault." — " You are 
mistaken, Sancho ; it is quite otherwise," answered the duke ; " for 
the exercise of hunting wild beasts is more proper and necessary for 
kings and princes than any other. Hunting is the image of war ; 
in it there are stratagems, artifices and ambuscades, to overcome 
your enemy without hazard to your person; in it you endure 



pinching cold and intolerable heat; idleness and sleep are con- 
temned ; natural vigour is strengthened by it, and the members of 
the body made active ; in short, it is an exercise v^^hich may be 
used without prejudice to anybody, and with pleasure to many. 
Moreover, the greatest advantage of it is, that it is not for all 
people, as are all other country sports, excepting hawking at high 
flight, which is also peculiar to kings and great persons. Change 
your opinion, therefore, Sancho, and, when you are a governor, 
exercise yourself in hunting ; you will find your account in it." — 
** Not so," answered Sancho ; " the good governor and the broken 
leg should keep at home. It would be fine indeed for people to 
come fatigued about business to seek him, while he is in the 
mountains following his recreations. At that rate, the government 
might go to wreck. In good truth, sir, hunting and pastimes are 
rather for your idle companions than for governors. What I 
design to divert myself with, shall be playing at brag the four days 
of Easter *9*, and at bowls on Sundays and holidays. But vdth 
regard to your huntings, they benefit not my condition, nor do 
they agree with my conscience." — " God grant you prove as good 
as you say, for saying and doing are at a wide distance," said the 
duke. " Be it so," replied Sancho ; " the good paymaster is in 
pain for no pawn ; and God's help is better than early rising, and 
the belly carries the legs, and not the legs the belly ; I mean that, 
with the help of God and a good intention, I shall doubtless 
govern better than a goshawk. Ay, ay, let them put their finger 
in my mouth, and then they shall see whether I can bite or not." — 
" The curse of God and of all his saints light on thee, accursed 
Sancho," cried Don Quixote. "When will the day come, as I 
have often said, that I shall hear thee utter one current and 
coherent sentence without proverbs? I beseech your grandeurs 
to let this blockhead alone ; he will grind your souls to death, not 
between two but between two thousand proverbs, introduced so 
little to the purpose, and so ill-timed, that, forasmuch as I wish God 
may grant him health and me, I desire not to hear them." — " Sancho 

^"^ Christmas, Epiphany, Easter and Whitsuntide, 


Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, " though they exceed in number 
those of the Greek commentator *95^ yet they are not to be less 
valued for the brevity of the sentences. For my own part, I must 
own they give me more pleasure than any others, though better 
timed and better applied." 

With these, and other no less entertaining discourses, they left 
the tent and went into the wood, to visit the toils and nets. The 
day was soon spent, and night came on, not so clear nor so calm as 
the season of the year, which was the midst of summer, seemed to 
promise ; but a kind of clear obscure, which contributed very much 
to help forward the duke and duchess's designs. Night coming on 
soon after the twilight, on a sudden the wood seemed on fire from 
all the four quarters. Presently were heard, on all sides, an infinite 
number of trumpets and other martial instruments, as if a great 
body of horse were passing through the wood. The blaze of the 
fire and the sound of the warlike instruments almost blinded and 
stunned the eyes and ears of all present, and even of all that were in the 
wood. Anon, there resounded many and long-sustained helelis, after 
the fashion of the Moors, when they are just going to join 
battle *9^. Trumpets and clarions sounded, drums beat, fifes played 
simultaneously, so fast and so continuously, that he must have 
had no sense who had not lost it at the confused din of so many 
instruments. The duke was astonished, the duchess alarmed, Don 
Quixote amazed, and Sancho Panza seized with a fit of trembling, 
and even they who were in the secret were terrified. Consterna- 
tion held them all in silence ; and at this juncture, a post-boy, 
habited like a devil, passed before them, winding, instead of a bugle, 

^^ El Comendador Griego. The celebrated humanist Fernán Nunez de Guzman, 
who, in the early part of the seventeenth century, professed Greek, Latin and rhetoric 
in the university of Salamanca, was so called. He was also called el Pinciano, because 
he was born at Valladolid, which is believed to be the Pincia of the Romans. His 
collection of proverbs did not appear till after his death, which happened in 1555. 
Another humanist, Juan de Mallara, of Seville, wrote a commentary on it, entituled 
Filosofia Vulgar. 

^'^ Hence, probably, came the Spanish hunting-cry of halali I 


a monstrous hollow horn, which yielded a hoarse and horrible 

sound. " So ho, brother courier," cried the duke, " who are you, 
whither go you ? and what soldiers are those who are crossing this 
wood ? " The courier answered in a harsh and dreadful voice : " I 
am the devil ; and I am going in quest of Don Quixote de la Mancha ; 
the people you inquire about are six troops of enchanters, who are 
conducting the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso in a triumphal chariot ; 
she comes enchanted, with the gallant Frenchman Montesinos, to 
inform Don Quixote how that same lady is to be disenchanted." — 
" If you were the devil as you say, and as your figure denotes you 
to be," answered the duke, "you would before now have known that 
same knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, for he now stands here 
before you." — " Before Heaven, and upon my conscience," replied 
the devil, " I did not see him : for my thoughts are distracted 
about so many things, that I forgot the principal business I came 
about." — " Doubtless," cried Sancho, " this devil must needs be a very 
honest fellow, and a good christian ; else he would not have sworn 
by Heaven and his conscience. Now, for my part, I verily believe 
there are some good folks in hell itself." 


Then the devil, without alighting, turning his eyes on Don 
Quixote, said : " To you, Knight of the Lions, (may I see you 
between their paws,) the imTÍTEtuiíaté tetrVSliant knight Montesinos 
sends me, commanding me to tell you from him to wait for him at 
the spot I meet you in, for he brings with him her whom they call 
Dulcinea del Toboso, in order to instruct you how you may disen- 
chant her. This being all I came for, I must stay no longer. 
Devils like me be with you, and good angels with this lord and lady." 
So saying, he blew his monstrous horn, turned his back and went 
his way, without staying for an ans wer fro^n anybody. 

The surprise and astonishment'of all present increased, especially 
of Sancho and Don Quixote ; Sancho, to see how, in spite of truth, 
Dulcinea must be enchanted ; and Don Quixote, in uncertainty 
concerning the actual truth or falsehood of what had happened to 
him in the cavern of Montesinos. While he stood wrapped up in 
these cogitations, the duke asked him : " Does your worship, signor 
Don Quixote, design to wait here ? " — " Why not ? " answered he ; 
"here will I wait, intrepid and courageous, though all hell should 
come to assault me." — "Now for my part," cried Sancho, " I will 
no more stay here to see another devil and hear another such horn, 
than I will go to Flanders." 

The night set in and grew darker, and numberless lights began 
to run about the wood, like those dry exhalations from the earth, 
which glancing along the sky, seem to our sight like shooting stars. 
There was heard likewise a dreadful noise, like that caused by the 
ponderous wheels of an ox-waggon, from whose harsh and 
continued creaking it is said wolves and bears fly away, if there 
chance to be any within hearing. To this hurly-burly was added 
another uproarious noise, which augmented the whole ; it seemed 
as if there were simultaneously fought four engagements at the 
four quarters of the wood. Here, sounded the deafening and 
dreadful noise of artillery ; there, were discharged infinite volleys 
of small shot ; the shouts of the combatants seemed to be near at 
liand ; the Saracenic helelies were heard at a distance. In short, 
the comets, horns, clarions, trumpets, drums, cannon, arquebuses, 
and, above all, the frightful creaking of tlie waggons, formed 




together so confused and horrid a din, that Don Quixote had 
need of all his courage to endure it without terror. But Sancho's 
soon quite failed him ; he fell down in a swoon, upon the train of the 
duchess's robe, who presently ordered cold water to be thrown in 
his face. That done, he recovered his senses at the instant one of 
the creaking waggons arrived at the spot. It was drawn by four 
lazy oxen, all covered with black palls, and a large lighted torch of 
wax fastened to each horn. At the top of the waggon was fixed 
an exalted seat, on which sat a venerable old man, with a beard 
whiter than snow itself, and so long that it reached below his 
girdle. His vestment was a long gown of black buckram, for the 
waggon was so illuminated, that one might easily discern and 
distinguish whatever was in it. The drivers were two ugly devils, 
similarly habited in buckram, and of such hideous aspect, that 
Sancho, having once seen them, shut his eyes close that he might 
not see them a second time. 

When the waggon was arrived close up to the place where 
the company were assembled, the venerable sire raised himself from 
his lofty seat, and, standing upon his feet, with a loud voice, he 
said : " I am the sage Lirgandeo ; " and the waggon passed 
forward without his speaking another word. After this there 
passed a second waggon in the same manner, with another old man 
enthroned, who, making the waggon stop, with a voice as solemn 
as the other said : " I am the sage Alquife, the great friend to 
Urganda the Unknown ; " and he passed on. Then advanced a 
third waggon with the same pace. But he who was seated on the 
throne was not an old man like the two former, but a robust and 
ill-favoured fellow. When he came near, standing up as the others 
had done, he said in a voice more hoarse and more diabolical : " I 
am Arcalaus the enchanter, mortal enemy of Amadis of Gaul and 
all his kindred," and on he went. 

These three waggons halted at a little distance, and the irksome 
jarring noise of their wheels ceased. Soon was heard no other 
noise than the sound of sweet and regular music. Sancho was 
much rejoiced, and took this for a good sign. " Where there is 
music, madam," he said to the duchess, from whom he had not 



budged an inch, " there can be no harm." — " Nor where there are 
lights and brightness," answered the duchess. " The fire may give 
light," retorted Sancho, " and bonfires may be bright, as we see by 
those that surround us, and yet we may very easily be burnt by 
them. But music is always a sign of feasting and merriment." — 
" That we shall see presently," added Don Quixote, who had 
listened to all that was said ; and he said right, as is shewu in the 
following chapter. 





N exact time 
with the agree- 
able music, they 
perceived advanc- 
ing towards them 
one of those cars 
they call triumphal, drawn by six grey mules caparisoned with 
white linen, and, mounted upon each of them, came a penitent of 
the light *, clothed also in white, and bearing a great wax torch 
lighted in his hand. The car "was thrice as big as any of the 
former. The sides and top of it were occupied by twelve other 
penitents, as white as snow, and all carrying lighted torches : a 
sight which at once caused terror and admiration. Upon an 
elevated throne sat a nymph clad in a thousand veils of silver 

* Disciplinante de luz. " A penitent of the light** says the royal dictionary "they 
call in Germany him who is to be exposed in a public manner, by being led through 
the streets or set in the pillory." Thus far the royal dictionary. Here in England, 
a white sheet and a candle or torch in hand is called doing penance ; and, under 
the same appearance of white and a torch, the amende honorable is performed in France. 


tissue, bespangled with numberless leaves of gold tinsel; which 
made her appear, if not very rich, at least very gorgeous. Her 
face was covered with a transparent and delicate silk gauze, so 
that, without any impediment from its fleecy texture, you might 
discover through it the face of a very beautiful damsel. The multitude 
of lights gave an opportunity of distinguishing her beauty and her 
age, which seemed not to reach twenty years, nor to be under 
seventeen. Close by her sat a figure arrayed in a gown of state, 
which reached to his feet, his head being covered with a black veil. 
The moment the car came up, just over against where the duke 
and duchess and Don Quixote stood, the music of the clarions 
ceased, and, presently after, that of the harps and lutes which 
played in the car. Then the figure in the gown, standing up, and 
throwing open the robe, and taking the veil from ofí" his face 
discovered plainly the very figure and skeleton of Death, hideous 
and fleshless. Don Quixote was startled and turned pale, Sancho 
sickened vdth terror at the sight of it, and the duke and duchess 
made a shew of some timorous concern. This living Death 
rising on its feet and standing up, with a voice somewhat drowsy, 
and a tongue not quite awake, spoke to the following purpose : 

** Merhn I am, miscalled the devil's son 
In lying annals, authorized by time ; 
Monarch supreme and great depositary 
Of magic art and Zoroastic skill ; 
Rival of envious ages, that would hide 
The glorious deeds of errant- cavaliers, 
Favour'd by me, and my peculiar charge. 
Though vile enchanters, still on mischief bent. 
To plague mankind their baleful art employ, 
Merlin's soft nature, ever prone to good. 
His power inclines to bless the human race. 

" In hell's dark chambers, where my busied ghost 
"Was forming spells and mystic characters, 
Dulcinea's voice (peerless Tobosan maid) 
With mournful accents reach'd my pitying ears. 
I knew her woe — her metamorphosed form. 
From high-born beauty, in a palace graced, 
To the loath'd features of a cottage wench. 



With sympathising grief I straight revolv'd 
Thejnumerous tomes of my detested art. 
And, in the hollow of this skeleton 
My soul enclosing, hither am I come. 
To tell the cure of such uncommon ills. 


** O glory thou of all that case their limbs 

In polish' d steel, and fenceful adamant. 

Light, beacon, polar star, and glorious guide 

Of all, who, starting from the lazy down. 

Banish ignoble sleep, for the rude toil 

And painful exercise of errant arms ; 

Spain's boasted pride. La Mancha's matchless knight. 

Whose valiant deeds outstrip pursuing fame ! 

Would' st thou to beauty's pristine state restore 

Th* enchanted dame, Sancho, thy faithfiil squire, 
* Must to his brawny buttocks, bare expos'd. 

Three thousand and three hundred stripes apply. 

Such as may sting, and give him smarting pain. 

The authors of her change have thus decreed ; 

And this is Merlin's errand from the shades." 

" I vow to God," cried Sancho at this period, " I say not three 
thousand, but I vv^ill as soon give myself three stabs as three lashes. 
The devil take this way of disenchanting ! I cannot see what my 
haunches have to do with enchantments. Before God, if signor 
Merlin can find out no other way to disenchant the lady Dulcinea 
del Toboso, enchanted she may go to her grave for me." — " I shall 
take you, Don peasant, gorged with garlic," cried Don Quixote, 
" and tie you to a tree, naked as your mother bore you, and I 
say not three thousand and three hundred, but six thousand 
six hundred lashes will I give you, and those so well laid on 
that you shall not be able to let them off at three thousand 
three hundred hard tugs. And answer me not a word, or I will 
tear out your ver}^ soul." When Merlin heard this : " It must 
not be so," he rejoined, "for the lashes that honest Sancho is to 
receive must be with his good-will, and not by force, and at what 
time he pleases, for there is no term set. He may, however, if he 
pleases, to save himself the pain of one half of this flogging 
suffer the other half to be laid on by another hand, although it 
be somewhat weighty." — " Neither another's hand nor my own, 
nor one weighty nor to be weighed, shall touch me," persisted 
Sancho. " Did I bring forth the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, that 
my hams must pay for the transgression of her eyes ? My master, 


indeed, who is part of her, since at every step he is calling her his 
life, his soul, his support, his stay, can and ought to lash himself 
for her, and take all the necessary measures for her disenchant- 
ment ; but for me to whip myself, me ? ahernuncio»' 

Scarcely had Sancho said this, when the silvered nymph, who sat 
close by the shade of Merlin, standing up, and throwing aside her 
thin veil, discovered a face, in every one's opinion, more than 
excessively beautiful ; with a manly assurance and no very feminine 
voice, she then proceeded to address herself directly to Sancho Panza: 
** O unlucky squire, soul of a pitcher, heart of a cork-tree, and bowels 
full of gravel and flints, had you been bid, audacious thief, to throw 
yourself headlong from some high tower ; had you been desired, 
enemy of human kind, to eat a dozen of toads, two of lizards, and three 
of snakes ; had any body endeavoured to persuade you to kill your 
wife and children with some bloody and sharp scimitar ; no wonder 
if you had betrayed an unwillingness and aversion. But to make a 
stir about three thousand three hundred lashes, which every puny 
school-boy receives every month, it amazes, stupifies and affrights 
the tender bowels of all who hear it, and even of all who shall 
hereafter be told it. Cast, miserable and hard-hearted animal, cast, 
I say, those eyes of a little starting mule of thine upon the balls of 
mine, brilliant as glittering stars, and you will see them weep, 
drop after drop, stream after stream making furrows, tracks and 
paths down the beauteous fields of my cheeks. Relent, subtile 
and ill-intentioned monster, at my blooming youth, still in its 
teens, for I am past nineteen, and not quite twenty, pining and 
withering under the bark of a coarse country wench. If at this 
time I appear otherwise, it is by the particular favour of signor 
Merlin, here present, merely that my charms may soften you, for 
the tears of afllicted beauty turn rocks into cotton and tigers into 
lambs. Lash, untamed beast, lash that brawny flesh of thine, and 
rouse from base sloth that courage which only inclines you to eat 
and eat again ; set at liberty the sleekness of my skin, the 
gentleness of my temper and the beauty of my face. But if, for 
my sake, you will not be mollified, nor come to any reasonable 
terms, be so for the sake of that poor knight by your side ; your 


master, I mean, whose soul I see sticking crosswise in his throat, 
not ten inches from his lips, expecting nothing but your rigid or 
mild answer, either to jump out of his mouth, or to return to his 

When Don Quixote heard these words, he put his finger to his 
throat to feel : " Before God, sir," cried he, turning to the duke, 
" Dulcinea has said the truth ; for here I feel my soul sticking in 
my throat like the stopper of a cross-bow."-^" What say you to 
this, Sancho ? " demanded the duchess. " I say madam," answered 
Sancho, " what I have already said : as to the lashes, abernmicio,'* 
— ** Abrenuncio '^^'^, you should say, Sancho," rejoined the duke, 
" and not what you said." — " Please your grandeur to let me alone," 
answered Sancho ; " at present I cannot stand to mind niceties, 
nor a letter more or less ; for these lashes, which are to be given me 
or I must give myself, keep me so disturbed, that I know not what 
I say or what I do. But I would fain know from the lady Dulcinea 
del Toboso where she learned the way of entreaty she uses. She 
comes to desire me to tear my flesh with stripes, and at the same 
time calls me a soul of a pitcher, untamed beast, and a bead-roll 
of ill names that the devil may bear for me. Does she, peradven- 
ture, think my flesh is made of brass ? or is it anything to me 
whether she be disenchanted or not ? Instead of bringing a basket 
of fine linen, shirts, night-caps and socks (though I wear none), to 
mollify me, here is nothing but reproach upon reproach, when she 
might have known the common proverb, that an ass loaded with 
gold mounts nimbly up the hill, and that presents break rocks, and 
pray to God devoutly and hammer on stoutly, and that one * take ' is 
worth two * I'll give thees.' Then my master, instead of wheedling 
and coaxing me to make myself of wool and carded cotton, says 
that if he takes me in hand, he will tie me naked with a rope to a 
tree, and double me the dose of stripes. Besides, these compas- 
sionate gentlefolks ought to consider that they do not only desire to 
have a squire whipped, but a governor, as if it were telling him to 

^'' A Latin word which, from common usage, has become naturalized in Spiün. 




take some honey after his cherries. Let them learn, let them learn 
in an ill hour, how to ask and entreat, and to be polite ; for all 
times are not alike, nor are men always in a good humour. I am 
at this time ready to burst with grief to see my green jacket torn, 
and people come to desire me to whip myself, of my own good- 
will, I having as little mind to it as to turn cacique." — " In truth, 
friend Sancho," said the duke, " if you do not relent and become 
softer than a ripe fig, you will obtain no government. It were 
good, indeed, that I should send my islanders a cruel, flinty -hearted 
governor, who relents not at the tears of afllicted damsels, nor at 
the entreaties of ancient and erudite enchanters and sages. In 
fine, Sancho, either you must whip yourself, or let others whip 
you, or be no governor." — " My lord," an swered Sancho, " may I 
not be allowed two days to consider what is best J^v me to do ? " 
— " No, in no wise," interrupted Merlin ; " here this very instant 
the business must be settled. Either Dulcinea must return to the 
cavern of Montesinos, in her former condition of a country wench, 
or else, in her present form, be carried to the Elysian fields, where she 
must wait till the number of the lashes be fulfilled." — " Come, honest 
Sancho," cried the duchess, " be of good cheer, and shew gratitude 
for the bread you have eaten of your master, Don Quixote, whom 
we are all bound to serve for his good qualities, and his high 
exploits of chivalry. Say yes, son, consent to this whipping bout, 
and let the devil take the devil, and let the wretched fear, for a 
good heart breaks bad fortune, as you well know." 

Instead of replying, Sancho, turning towards Merlin : " Pray 
tell me, signor Merlin," he said, "the courier-devil who 
came hither delivered my master a message from signor Montesinos, 
bidding him await him here, as he was coming to give directions 
about the disenchantment of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso ; but 
to this hour we have neither seen Montesinos, nor any likeness of 
his : pray, where is he ? " — " The devil, friend Sancho," answered 
Merlin, "is a blockhead and a very great rascal. I sent him in 
quest of your master, not with a message from Montesinos, but 
from me, for Montesinos is still in his cavern, looking for his dis- 
enchantment, of which the tail still remains to be flayed. If he 

PART 11. CHAP. XXXV. 155 

owes you aught, or if you have any business with him, I will fetch him 
hither and set him wherever you think fit. But, at present, consent 
to this disciphne ; believe me, it will redound much to your good, 
as well of your soul as of your body. For your soul, in regard 
of the charity with which you will perform it; for your body, 
because I know you to be of a sanguine complexion, and letting 
out a Httle blood can do you no harm." — " What a number of 
doctors there are in the world ;*^the_very enchanters are doctors," 
replied Sancho. y\ But since every body tells me so, though I see 
no reason for it myself, I say that I am contented to give myself 
the three thousand three hundred lashes, upon condition that I 
may lay them on whenever I please, with out, being tie d to days 
or times ; but I will endeavour to get out of debt the soonest that I 
possibly can, that the world may enjoy the beauty of the lady 
Dulcinea del Toboso, since, contrary to what I thought, she is in 
reality most beautiful. I article likewise, that I will not be bound 
to draw blood with the whip, and if some lashes happen only to 
fly-flap, they shall be taken into the account. Item, if I should 
mistake in the reckoning, signor Merlin, who knows every thing 
shall keep the account and give me notice how many I want, or 
have exceeded." — " As for the overplus there is no need of keeping 
account," answered Merlin ; " for, as soon as you arrive at the com- 
plete number, the lady Dulcinea del Toboso will be instantly dis- 
enchanted, and will come in a most grateful manner to seek honest 
Sancho, to thank and recompense him for the good deed done. 
There need, therefore, be no scruple about the overpluses or defi- 
ciencies, and Heaven forbid I should cheat any body, of so much 
as a hair of their head." — " Go to, then, in God's name," cried 
Sancho ; " I submit to my ill-fortune, that is to say, I accept of 
the penance upon the conditions stipulated." 

Scarcely had Sancho uttered these words, when the music again 
struck up, and a loud salvo of muskets was again discharged. Don 
Quixote clung about his squire's neck, giving him a thousand kisses 
on the forehead and cheeks. The duke and duchess and all the 
bystanders gave signs of being mightily pleased with this happy 
finale. The car at length began to move on, and, in passing by, 



the fair Dulcinea bowed her head to the duke and duchess, and 
made a low courtesy to Sancho. 

By this time the rosy smiling dawn came on apace. The 
flowers of the field expanded their fragrant bosoms and erected 
their heads; the liquid crystals of the brooks, murmuring 
through the white and grey pebbles, went to pay their tribute to 
the rivers that expected them. The earth rejoiced, the sky was 
clear, and the air serene ; all manifest tokens that the day which trod 
upon Aurora's heels would be fair and clear. The duke and 
duchess, satisfied with the sport and with having executed their 



design so ingeniously and happily, returned to the castle, with an 
intention of following up their jest since nothing real could have 
afforded them so much pleasure. 







JY) iviNG in his service, the duke had a 
-JL_^ steward, of a very pleasant and facetious 
wit. He it was who represented Merlin, 
contrived the whole conduct of the late 
adventure, composed the verses, and made 
a page act Dulcinea. And now, at the 
duke and duchess's request, he prepared 
another adventure, of the pleasantest and 
strangest contrivance imaginable. 

The next day, the duchess asked 
Sancho whether he had begun the penance 
he was to perform for the disenchantment 
of Dulcinea. He replied that he had, and had given himself five 
lashes that night. The duchess desired to know with what he had 
given them. He answered with the palm of his hand. " That," 
rejoined the duchess, "is rather clapping than whipping." I am of 
opinion that signer Merlin will hardly be contented at so easy a 
rate. Honest Sancho must get a rod made of whipcord, with iron 
knots, that the lashes may be felt. For letters written in blood, it 
is said, stand good, and the liberty of so great a lady as Dulcinea is 
not to be purchased at so low a price." — " Give me then, madam," 




answered Sancho, " some scourge or convenient whip, and I will 
whip myself with it, provided it do not smart too much : for I 
would have your ladyship know that, though I am a cloven, my 
flesh has more of the cotton than of the rush, and it w^ould not be 
just that I should lacerate myself for other folks' good." — r" You say- 
well," answered the duchess ; " to-morrow I will give you a whip 
which shall suit you exactly, and agree with the tenderness of your 
flesh, as if it were its own brother." — " Your highness must know, 
dear lady of my soul, that I have written a letter to my wife, 
Teresa Pauza, giving her an account of all that has befallen me 
since I parted from her. I have it here in my bosom, and it wants 
nothing but the superscription. I wish your discretion w^ould read 
it, for methinks it runs as becomes a governor to write." — " And 
who indited it?" demanded the duchess. " Who should indite it. 
but I myself, sinner as I am ?" answered Sancho. " And did you 
write it ? " said the duchess. " No, indeed," answered Sancho, for 
I can neither read nor write, though I can set my mark." — " Let us 
see it," said the duchess, " for no doubt you show in it the quality 
and sufficiency of your genius." 

Sancho pulled an open letter out of his bosom, and the duchess, 
taking it in her hand, found that it was conceived in the following 
terms : 

gAQ^igKliS) IPAQ^g^sg LlTTirili^ 


" If I have been finely lashed, I have been finely mounted ; if I 
have got a good government, it has caused me many good lashes. 


This, my dear Teresa, you will not understand at present ; another 
time, you will. You must know, Teresa, that I am determined you 
shall ride in your coach, which is somewhat to the purpose ; for all 
other ways of going are creeping upon all fours ^^s \[]^q ^ cat. You 
are a governor's wife ; see now whether any body will tread on your 
heels. Herewith I send you a green hunting-suit, which my lady 
duchess gave me ; fit it up so that it may serve our daughter for a 
jacket and a petticoat. They say, in this country, my master Don 
Quixote is a sensible madman, and a pleasant fool ; and that I am 
not a whit short of him. We have been in the cavern of Monte- 
sinos, and the sage Merlin has pitched upon me for the disenchant- 
ment of Dulcinea del Toboso, who is called, among you, Aldonza 
Lorenzo. With three thousand and three hundred lashes, lacking 
five, that I am to give myself, she will be as much disenchanted as 
the mother that bore her. Say nothing of this to any body, for 
you know the proverb : ' go to give counsel about what is your own, 
and one will cry it is white, another it is black.' A few da\s hence 
I shall go to the government, whither I go with an eager desire 
to make money, for I am told all new governors go with the same 
intention. I will feel its pulse, and send you word whether you 
shall come and join me or not. Dapple is well, and sends his 
hearty service to you ; I do not intend to leave him, though I were 
to be made the grand Turk. The duchess, my mistress, kisses your 
hand a thousand times ; return her two thousand, for nothing costs 
less, nor is cheaper, as my master says, than compliments of civility. 
God has not been pleased to bless me with another portmanteau 

^9^ A carriage, in Cervantes' time, was an article of luxury of the utmost rarity, 
and was an object of ambition among ladies of the highest rank. Families lite- 
rally ruined themselves in order to indulge in this expensive object of vanity and 
pride, and six laws (pragmáticas) were passed in the short space between 1578 and 
1626, to repress the abuses of this then new fashion. According to Sandoval {His- 
toria de Carlos Quinto, part ii.), it was in the reign of Charles V., and in the year 
1546, that the first carriage ever used in Spain was introduced into that country from 
Germany. Whole towns, says he, rushed to behold this curiosity, and were as much 
astonished as they would have been at the sight of a centaur or a monster. The rage 
for carriages, so fatal to small fortunes, was, on the contrary, advantageous to great 
lords, who till then never went out unattended by a cortege of servants of all ranks. 
It is the remark of a contemporary, Don Luis Brochero (Discurso del uso de los coches) 
that, " by means of carriages, the nobility dispense with an army of domestics, an 
avant-guard of lackies and a rear-guard of pages." 

PART. ir. — CHAP, xxxvr. 161 

and another hundred crowns, as once before ; but be in no pain, my 
dear Teresa ; for he that has the repique in hand is safe, and all will 
out in the bucking of the government. Only one thing troubles me, 
for I am told that if I once try it I shall eat my very fingers after it. 
If so, it would be no very good bargain, though the crippled and 
lame in their hands enjoy a kind of petty-canonry in the alms they 
receive. Thus, by one means or another, you are sure to be rich 
and happy. God make you so, as he easily can, and keep me to 
serve you. From this castle, the 20th July, 1614. 
" Your husband, the governor. 


The duchess, having read the letter, said to Sancho : " In two things 
the good governor is a little out of the way. First, in saying or insi- 
nuating that this government is given him on account of the lashes he 
is to give himself, while he knows and cannot deny that, when my lord 
duke promised it him, nobody dreamed of any such things as lashes 
in the world. Secondly, he shews himself in it very covetous, and 
I would not have him be griping, for avarice bursts the bag, and the 
covetous governor sells, instead of administering, justice." — " That 
is not my meaning, madam," answered Sancho ; " if your ladyship 
thinks this letter does not run as it should do, it is but tearing it to 
pieces and writinc^ a new one." — "No, no," rrplied the duchess; 

VOL. III. \ 


" this is a very good one, and I will have the duke see it." They 
then went to a garden, where they were to dine that day. 

The duchess shewed Sancho's letter to the duke, who was highly 
diverted with it. They dined, and after the cloth was taken away, 
and they had entertained themselves a good while with Sancho's 
amusing conversation, on a sudden they heard the shrill sound of a 
fife, accompanied by that of a hoarse and unbraced drum. They 
all discovered some surprise at this martial and doleful harmony, 
especially Don Quixote, who could not contain himself in his seat 
through pure emotion. As for Sancho, it is enough to say that 
fear carried him to his usual refuge, which was the skirts of the 
duchess's robe ; for the sound they heard was really most sad and 
melancholy. In the midst of the general silence and suspense, 
they perceived two men enter the garden clad in mourning-robes, 
so long that they swept the ground. Each of them came beating 
a large drum, covered also with black. By their side marched the 
fifer, black and lugubrious like the rest. The three musicians 
were followed by a personage of gigantic stature, not clad, but 
mantled about with a robe of the blackest dye, its immense 
train trailing along the ground a long distance in his rear. The 
robe was girt about with a broad black belt, to which there hung 
an enormous scimitar, black-hilted and in a black scabbard. His 
face was covered with a transparent black veil, through which 
appeared a very lengthy beard as white as snow. He marched to 
the sound of the drums vdth much gravity and composure. In 
short, his huge bulk, his stateliness, his blackness, his cortege, might 
very well surprise all who beheld him and were not in the secret. 
Thus he came with the stateliness and solemnity aforesaid, and 
kneeled down before the duke, who, with the rest, received him 
standing. But the duke would in no wise suffer him to speak till 
he rose. The monstrous spectre did so, and, as soon as he was 
upon his feet, he lifted up the veil that concealed his features. He 
thus exposed to view the horridest, the longest, the whitest and 
the thickest beard that human eyes till then had ever beheld. He 
soon sent forth from his broad and ample breast a grave and 
sonorous voice, and, fixing his eyes on the duke, he said : 


" Most mighty and puissant Sir, I am called Trifaldin of the 
White Beard; I am squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise 
called the Duenna Dolorida, from whom I bring your grandeur a 
message, namely, that your magnificence would be pleased to give 
her permission and leave to enter, and tell her distress, which is one 
of the newest and most wonderful that the most painful imagina- 
tion in the world could ever have conceived. But first she 
desires to know whether the valorous and invincible Don Quixote 
de la Mancha resides in this your castle, in quest of whom she is 
come on foot, and without breaking her fast, from the kingdom of 
Gandaya, to this your territory, a thing which may and ought to be 
considered as a miracle, or ascribed to the force of enchantment. 
She stands at the door of this fortress or pleasure house, and only 
awaits your good pleasure to come in. I have said." Upon this 
he hemmed, and stroked his beard from top to bottom with both 
his hands, and, with much tranquility, stood expecting the duke's 
answer, which was as follows : " It is now many days, honest Squire 
Trifaldin of the White Beard, since we have had. notice of the 
misfortunes of my lady the Countess Trifaldi, whom the enchanters 
have occasioned to be called the Duenna Dolorida. Tell her, 
stupendous Squire, she may enter, and that the valiant knight Don 
Quixote de la Mancha is here, from whose generous disposition she 
may safely promise herself all kinds of aid and assistance. Tell her 
also from me that if my favour be necessary it shall not be want- 
ing, since I am bound to it by being a knight, seeing that to such it 
particularly belongs to protect all sorts of women, especially injured 
and afflicted matrons, such as her ladyship." Trifaldin, hearing this, 
bent a knee to the ground, and, making a sign to the fife and 
drums to play, he walked out of the garden to the same tune and 
with the same solemnity as he came in, leaving every one in 
admiration at his figure and deportment. 

The duke then turned to Don Quixote : " In short," he said to 
him, " renowned knight, neither the clouds of malice nor those of 
ignorance can hide or obscure the light of valour and virtue. This 1 
say, because it is hardly six days that your goodness has been in 
this castle, and behold the sorrowful and afilie ted are already come 



in quest of you, from far distant and remote countries, not in 
coaches, or upon dromedaries, but on foot and fasting, trusting 
they shall find in that strenuous arm of yours the remedy for their 
troubles and distresses, thanks to your grand exploits which run 
and spread themselves over the whole face of the earth," — " I wish. 



my lord duke," answered Don Quixote, " that the ecclesiastic who 
the other day expressed so much ill-will and so great a grudge to 
knights-errant, were now here, that he might see with his eyes, 
w^hether or not such knights are necessary in the world. At least 
he would be made sensible that the extraordinarily afflicted and 
disconsolate in great cases and in enormous mishaps, do not fly for a 
remedy to the houses of scholars, nor to those of country parish- 
priests, nor to the cavalier who never thinks of stirring from his 
own town, nor the lazy courtier who rather enquires after news to 
tell again than endeavours to perform actions and exploits for 
others to relate or write of him. Remedy for distress, relief in 
necessities, protection of damsels, the consolation of widows, are no- 
where so readily to be found as among knights-errant. And that I 
am one I give infinite thanks to Heaven, and shall not repine at 
any hardship or trouble that can befall me in so honourable an 
exercise. Let this matron come, and make what request she 
pleases ; I will commit her redress to the force of my arm and the 
intrepid resolution of the heart which impels it." 

The duke and duchess were highly delighted to see how well 
Don Quixote answered their intention ; and their pleasure was 
augmented when they heard Sancho chime in as follows : 






SHOULD be lotli," said Sancho, 
" that this madam duenna should 
lay any stumbling-block in the 
way of my promised govern- 
ment ; for I have heard an apothe- 
cary of Toledo, who talked like a 
goldfinch, say that, where duennas 
have to do, no good thing can e'er 
ensue. Holy Virgin ! what an enemy was that apothecary to them ! 
Hence I conclude that, since all duennas are troublesome and 
impertinent, of what quality or condition soever they be, what 
must the afflicted, or doleful, or dolorous^^^ be, as they say this 
same countess Three skirts or Three tails is ^^^, for in my country, 
skirts and tails, and tails and skirts, are all one." — " Peace, friend 
Sancho," said Don Quixote : " since this lady duenna comes in 

— ' >Vy . M#t\!>i»\h '\rAMfPlTO\iJ^^]^ 

499 Various meanings of the word dolorida. 

^ Sancho is here guilty of a pun on the name of the countess Trifaldi. Falda 
means the skirt of a coat, the lappet of a gown. 



quest of me from so remote a country, she cannot be one of those 
the apothecary has in his list. Besides, this is a countess, and 
when countesses serve as duennas, it must be as attendants upon 
queens and empresses ; for in their own houses they command, and 
are served in their turn, by other duennas." 

To this, Donna Rodriguez, who was present, quickly added : My 

lady duchess has duennas in her service who might have been 
countesses, if fortune had pleased. But laws go on kings' errands. 



Let no one, however, speak ill of duennas, especially of the ancient 
maiden ones, for, though I am not of that number, yet I well know 
and clearly perceive the advantage a maiden duenna has over a 
widow duenna ; though a pair of shears cut us all out of the same 
piece."—" For all that," replied Sancho, " there is still so much to 
be sheared about your duennas, according to my apothecary, that it 
is better not to stir the rice, though it burn to the pot." — " These 
squires," rejoined Donna Rodriguez, " are always our enemies ; as 
they are a kind of faries that haunt the anti-chambers, and spy us 
at every turn, the hours they are not at their beads, which are not 
a few, they employ in speaking ill of us, unburying our bones and 
burying our reputations. But let me tell these moving blocks, that, 
in spite of their teeth, we will continue to live in the world and in 
the best families, though we starve for it, and cover our delicate or 
not delicate bodies with a threadbare black petticoat, as people 
cover a dunghill with a piece of tapestry on a procession day. In 
faith, if I might and had time, I would make all here present, and 
all the world besides, know that there is no virtue but is contained 
in a duenna." — " I am of opinion," said the duchess, " that my 
good Donna Rodriguez is in the right, and very much so. But she 
must wait for a fit opportunity to stand up and defend herself and 
the rest of the duennas, to confound the ill opinion of that wicked 
apothecary, and root out what the great Sancho has in his breast." 
— " Ever since the fumes of government have got into my head," 
rejoined Sancho, " I have lost the megrims of squireship, and care 
not a wild fig for all the duennas in the world." 

This dialogue about duennas might have continued, had they not 
heard the drums and fifes strike up again, by which they understood 
the Duenna Dolorida was just entering. The duchess asked the 
duke whether it was not proper to go and meet her, since she was 
a countess and a person of quality. " As she is a countess," said 
Sancho, before the duke could answer, "it is very fit your 
grandeurs should go to receive her ; but, as she is a duenna, I am 
of opinion you should not stir a step." — " Who bid you intermeddle 
in this matter, Sancho ?" said Don Quixote. " Who sir ?" answered 
Sancho ; " I myself, who have a right to intermeddle, as a squire 



who has learned the rules of courtesy in the school of your worship, 
who is the best-bred knight courtesy ever produced. In these 
matters, as I have heard your worship say, one may as well lose the 
game by a card too much as a card too little, and a word to the 
wise is sufficient." — " It is even so, as Sancho says," added the 
duke ; " we shall soon see what kind of a countess this is, and by 
that we shall judge what courtesy is due to her." 

The drums and fife now entered, as they did the first time ; and 
here the author ends this short chapter to begin another, in which 
he continues the same adventure, which is one of the most notable 
in the history. 






ON Quixote beheld twelve duennas 
enter the garden after the doleful 
music ; they were divided into two 
files, all clad in large religious robes of 
milled serge, with white veils of thin 
^ I muslin, so long that only the border of 
the robe appeared. After these came 
the countess Trifaldi, whom squire 
Trifaldin of the White Beard led by the 
hand. She was clad in a robe of the 
finest serge, which, if knapped, each 
grain would have been of the size of a 
large pea. The train or tail was 
divided into three corners, supported 
by three pages, clad in black, making a 
sightly and mathematical figure with the three acute angles 
formed by the three corners ; whence all that saw them concluded 


she was therefore called the countess Trifaldi, as much as to say the 

Countess of the Three skirts. Ben Engeli says that was the truth of 
the matter, and that her right title was the countess Wolfina, because 
her domain abounded in wolves, and had these wolves been foxes, she 
would have been styled countess Reynard, it being the custom in 
those parts for great persons to take their titles from the thing or 
things in which their estates most abounded. But this countess, 
in favour of the new cut of her train, quitted her title of Wolfina, 
to take that of Trifaldi. 

The twelve duennas with the lady advanced a procession pace, 
their faces covered with black veils, and not transparent, like 
Trifaldin's, but, on the contrary, so close that nothing could be 
seen through them. Upon the appearance of this squadron of 
duennas, the duke, duchess and Don Quixote rose from their seats, 
as did all the rest who beheld the grand procession. The twelve 
duennas halted, and formed a lane, through which the Dolorida 
advanced, without Trifaldin's letting go her hand. The duke, 


duchess and Don Ouixote stepped forward about a dozen paces to 
receive her. She, kneehng on the ground, with a voice rather 
harsh and coarse than harmonious and delicate, said : 

** May it please your grandeurs to spare condescending to do so 
great a courtesy to your valet, — I mean your handmaid, — for such 
is my affliction that I shall not be able to answer as I ought. 
In effect, my strange and unheard-of misfortune has carried away 
my understanding I know not whither, though surely it must be a 
vast way off, since the more I seek it, the less I find it." — " He 
would want it, lady countess," answered the duke, " who could not 
judge of your worth by your person, which, without seeing any 
more, merits the whole cream of courtesy, and the whole ñower of 
well-bred ceremonies." And, raising her by the hand, he led her to 
a chair close by the duchess, who also received her v^dth much 
civility. Don Quixote held his peace, and Sancho was dying with 
impatience to see the face of the Trifaldi, or some one of her many 
duennas. But it was not possible, till they of their own accord 
unveiled themselves. 

Every one now keeping silence, in expectation who should 
break it first, the Duenna Dolorida began in these words : 
" Confident I am, most mighty lord, most beautiful lady and most 
discreet bystanders, that my most utter wretchedness will find in 
your most valorous breasts a protection no less placid than generous 
and dolorous ; for such it is that it is sufiicient to mollify marble, 
soften diamond, and melt the steel of the hardest heart in the 
world. — But, before it ventures on the public stage of your 
hearing (not to say of your ears), I should be glad to be informed 
whether the refinedissimo knight, Don Quixote de la Manchissima, 
and his squirissimo Panza, be in the bosom of this illustrissime 
company." — " Panza," cried Sancho, before any body else could 
answer, "is here; also Don Quixotissimo. You, therefore, 
Dolorodissima Duennissima, may say what you pleasissima, for we 
are all ready and preparedissimo to be your servantissimos."* 

* It is observable, that Sancho has acuteness enough to answer the matron in her 
own fustian style, while Don Quixote, having no notion of ridicule, lets it pass. The 
reader must have taken notice how much Sancho is improved in this second part ; 
for acuteness or aflfectation seem not to have belonged to his original character. 



Upon this, Don Quixote stood up, and directing his discourse to 
the Duenna Dolorida, he said : " If your distresses, afflicted lady, 
can promise themselves any remedy from the valour or fortitude of 
a knight-errant, behold mine, which, though weak and scanty, shall 
all be employed in your service. I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, 
whose function it is to succour the distressed of all sorts. This 
being the case, as it really is, you need not, madam, bespeak good 
will, nor have recourse to preambles; but, plainly and without 
circumlocution, tell your griefs. You are within hearing of those 
who know how to compassionate, if not to redress them." 

When the Duenna Dolorida heard this, she made a show as if 



K '^\iHiiiÍl ''fm^'i 

^^ i 

she would prostrate herself at Don Quixote's feet, and actually did 
so, and, struggling to kiss them, said : " I prostrate myself, O 


invincible knight, before these feet and legs, as the bases and 
pillars of knight-errantry. These feet will I kiss, on whose steps 
the whole remedy of my misfortunes hangs and depends, O 
valorous errant, whose true exploits outstrip and obscure the 
fabulous ones of the Amadises, Esplandians, and Belianises." 
Then, leaving Don Quixote, she turned to Sancho Panza, and 
taking him by the hand, said : " O thou, the most trusty squire 
that ever served knight-errant, in the present or past ages, whose 
goodness is of greater extent than the beard of my companion 
Trifaldin, here present ! well mayest thou vaunt that, in serving 
Don Quixote, thou dost serve in miniature the whole tribe of 
knights that ever handled arms in the world. I conjure thee, by 
what thou owest to thy own fidelity and goodness, to become an 
importunate intercessor for me with thy lord, that he would 
instantly favour the humblest and unhappiest of countesses." 

Sancho answered: "Whether my goodness, madam, be or be 
not as long and as broad as your squire's beard, signifies little to 
me. So that my soul be bearded and whiskered when it departs 
this life, I care little or nothing for beards here below. Moreover, 
without these wheedlings and beseechings, I will desire my master 
(who I know has a kindness for me, especially now that he wants 
me for a certain business), to favour and assist your ladyship in 
whatever he can. Unfold your griefs, madam, let us into the 
particulars, and leave us alone to manage, for we shall understand 
one another. 

The duke and duchess were ready to burst with laughing, and 
commended in their thoughts the smartness and dissimulation of 
the Trifaldi. The latter, having re-seated herself, said : " Of the 
famous kingdom of Gandaya, which lies between the great 
Trapobana and the South Sea, two leagues beyond Cape Comorin, 
was queen Donna Magoncia, widow of king Archipiela, her lord 
and husband. From their marriage sprung the Infanta Antono- 
masia, heiress of the kingdom, which Infanta Antonomasia was 
educated under my care and instruction, as being the most noble 
and ancient duenna among those who waited upon her mother. 
Now, in process of time, the young Antonomasia attained the age 


of fourteen, with such perfection of beauty, that nature could not 

raise it a pitch higher, and, what is more, discretion itself was but a 
child to her. In good truth, she was as discreet as she was fair, and 
she was the fairest creature in the world, and is so still, if envious 
fates and hard-hearted destinies have not cut short her thread of 
life. But surely they have not done it, for Heaven would never 
permit that so much injury should be done to the world, as to tear off 
such an unripe cluster from the fairest vine on the face of the 
earth. Of this beauty, never sufficiently extolled by my feeble 
tongue, an infinite number of princes, as well natives as foreigners, 
grew enamoured. Among them, a private gentleman of the court 


dared to raise his thoughts to the heaven of so much beauty, 
confiding in his youth, his handsome person, his many abihties and 
graces, and the faciUty and feHcity of his wit. For I must tell 
your grandeurs, if it be no offence, that he touched a guitar so as 
to make it speak ; that he was, moreover, a poet and a fine dancer, 
and that he could make bird-cages so well as to get his living by 
it in case of extreme necessity. So many qualifications and 
endowments were sufiicient to overturn a mountain, much more a 
tender virgin. But all his gentility, graceful behaviour and fine 
accomplishments would have signified little or nothing towards the 
conquest of my pupil's fortress, if the audacious robber had not 
artfully contrived to reduce me first. The assassin and barbarous 
vagabond began by endeavouring to obtain my good will, and 
suborn my inclination, that I might, like a treacherous keeper as I 
was, deliver up to him the key of the fortress I guarded. He 
succeeded in imposing upon my understanding, and got from me 
my consent by means of I know not what toys and trinkets he 
presented me with. But that which chiefly brought me over to his 
purpose, was a stanza which I heard him sing one night through a 
grate that looked into an alley where he stood, which, if I remember 
right, ran thus : 

* The tyrant fair, whose beauty sent 

The throbbing mischief to my heart, 
The more my anguish to augment. 

Forbids me to reveal the smart ^^ .' 

** The stanza seemed to me to be of gold, and his voice of honey ; 

** De la dulce mi enemiga 

Nace un mal que al alma hiere, 
Y por mas tormento quiere 
Que se sienta y no se diga. 

This quatrain is translated fijom the Italian. The original, as written by Serafino 
Aquilano, is as follows : 

Da la dolce mia nemica 

Nasce un duol ch'esser mon suole : 

E per piu tormento vuole 

Che si senta e non si dica. 


and many a time since have I thought, considering the mishap I fell 
into, that poets, at least amatory poets, ought, as Plato advised, to 
be banished from all good and well-regulated commonwealths ; for 
they write couplets, not like those of the marquis of Mantua, which 
divert women, and make children weep, but such pointed 
things as, like smooth thorns, pierce the soul, and wound like 
lightning, leaving the garment whole and unsinged. Another time 
he sung: 

' Come, Death, with gently stealing pacCi 

And take me unperceived away, 
Nor let me see thy wished-for face. 

Lest joy my fleeting life should stay,^°^' 

with other such couplets and ditties as enchant when sung, and. 
dehght when written. But when the poets condescend to compose 
a kind of verses, at that time in fashion in Gandaya, which they call 
seguidillas^^^, they presently occasion a dancing of the soul, a tickling 
of the fancy, perpetual agitation of the body, and lastly, a kind of 
quicksilver of all the senses. Therefore I say, most noble auditors, 
that such versifiers deserve to be banished to the Islands of 
Lizards^o*. 'But, in truth, they are not to blame ; the simpletons 
who commend them, and the idiots who believe them, only are in 
fault. Had I been the honest duenna I ought, his nightly sere- 
nades had not moved me, nor had I believed those poetical expres- 
sions, di/ing 1 live, in ice I bum, I shiver inflames, in despair 1 
hope, I go yet stay, with other impossibiiities of the same stamp, 
with which his serenades abounded. And when we are promised the 
phoenix of Arabia, the crown of Ariadne, the hairs of the sun, the 
pearls of the South Sea, the gold of Tiber, and the balsam of 

"^ Ven, muerte, tan escondida 

Que no te sienta venir, 
Porque el placer del morir 
No me torne a dar la vida. 

This quatrain was first written, with a slight variation in the second and third 
lines, by the commander Escriba. 

(m xjje seguidillas^ also called coplas de la seguida (sequent couplets), which 
began to be in fashion in Cervantes' time, are short strophes in little verses, set to 
light and quick music. They are dances as well as poetry. 

«"* The desert islands. 

roL. III. Z 



Pancaya, the poets give their pen the greatest scope, it costing them 
little to promise what they are unable to perform. But, woe is me, 
unhappy wretch ! whither do 1 stray ? what folly or what madness 
hurries me to recount the faults of others, having so many of my 
own to relate ? Woe ! woe is me, unhappy creature that I am ! 
Not his verses and serenades but my own simplicity vanquished me. 
My imprudence, my great ignorance and my little caution melted 
me down, opened the way and smoothed the passage for Don 
Clavijo, for that is the name of the aforesaid cavalier. Through 
my intervention, he entered, not once, but often, in the chamber of 
the (not by him but by me) betrayed Antonomasia, under the title 

of her lawful husband ; for, though a sinner, I would never have 
consented, without his being her husband, that he should have come 
within the shadow of her shoe-string. No, no ; marriage must be 
the forerunner of any business of this kind undertaken by me. 
Only there was one mischief in it, which was the disparity between 



them, Don Clavijo being but a private gentleman, and the Infanta 
Antonomasia heiress, as I have already said, of the kingdom. This 
intrigue lay concealed and wrapped up in the sagacity of my cautious 
management for some time ; but I soon perceived it begin to show 
itself in I know not what kind of rounding of Antonomasia's person. 
The dread of discovery made us three lay our heads together, and the 
result was that, before the unhappy slip should come to light, Don 
Clavijo should demand Antonomasia in marriage before the vicar, 
in virtue of a written promise, signed by the Infanta and given him, 
to be his wife, worded by my wit, and in such strong terms, that the 
force of Sampson was not able to break through it. The necessary 
steps were taken ; the vicar saw the contract and took the lady's con- 
fession; she acknowledged the whole, and was ordered into the 
custody of an honest alguazil of the court." 

" What ! " cried Sancho, " are there court-alguazils, poets and 
seguidillas in Gandaya too ? I swear I think the world is the same 
everywhere. But, madam Trifaldi, pray make haste ; it grows 
late, and I die to hear the end of this so very long story." — " That 
I will," answered the countess. 





ON Quixote was at 
his wits' end, and the 
duchess was highly 
delighted at every 
word Sancho spoke. 
The knight, however, 
ordered him to keep 
silence, while the 
Dolorida continued as 
follows : "In short, 
after many pros and 
cons, the Infanta 
^ standing stiffly to her 

^/ _ engagement, without 

varying or departing 
from the declaration 
first made by her, the 
vicar pronounced sen- 
tence in favour of Don Clavijo, and gave her to him to wife ; at which 
the queen, Donna Magoncia, mother to the Infanta Antonomasia, was 


SO much disturbed, that we buried her in three day's time." — " She 
died, then, I suppose," said Sancho. " Most assuredly," answered 
Trifaldin, " for in Gandaya they do not bury the living, but the dead." 
— "Master squire," replied Sancho, " it has happened ere now that a 
person in a swoon has been buried for dead, and, in my opinion, 
queen Magoncia ought to have swooned away rather than have 
died, for, while there is life there is hope. The Infanta's transgres- 
sion, moreover, was not so great that she should lay it so much to 
heart. Had the lady married a page, or any other servant of the 
family, as I am told many others have done, the mischief had been 
without remedy ; but she having made choice of a cavalier, so much 
a gentleman, and of such parts as he is described to us, verily, verily, 
though it was foolish, it was not so very much so as some people 
think. For, according to the rules of my master, who is here pre- 
sent, and will not let me lie, as bishops are made out of learned 
men, so kings and emperors may be made out of cavaliers, especially 
if they are errant." — " You are in the right, Sancho," said Don 
Quixote, " for a knight-errant, give him but two inches of good 
luck, ranks next to be the greatest lord in the world. But let 
madam Dolorida proceed, for I fancy the bitter part of this hitherto 
sweet story is still behind." — " The bitter behind ! " answered the 
countess : " Aye, and so bitter, that in comparison, wormwood is 
sweet and rue savoury. 

" The queen being now dead, and not swooned away, we buried 
her ; but scarcely had we covered her with earth, and pronounced 
the last farewell, when suddenly, quis taliafando temperet a lacry- 
mis ^^^ ! upon the queen's sepulchre appeared, mounted on a wooden 
horse, the giant Malambruno, Magoncia's cousin-german, who, 
besides being cruel, is also an enchanter. This giant, in revenge 
of his cousin's death, and in chastisement of the boldness of Don 

^ In ironical allusion to the celebrated apostrophe of Virgil, in which iilneas re- 
counts to Dido the misfortunes of Troy. 

Quis talia fando 
Myrmidonum, Dolopumve, aut duri miles Ulyssei, 
Temperet a lacrymis (^n., lib. u.) 



Clavijo and the folly of Antonomasia, left them both enchanted by 
his art upon the very sepulchre ; her he converted into a monkey 

of brass, and him into a fearful crocodile of an unknown metal. 
Between them lies a plate of metal likewise, with letters engraven 
upon it in the Syriac language, which being rendered into the 


Candayan, and now into the Castilian, contains this sentence : 
* These two presumptuous lovers shall not recover their pristine 
form, till the valorous Manchegan shall enter into single combat 
with me ¡for the destinies reserve this unheard-of adventure for his 
great valour alone.' This done, he unsheathed a ponderous scimitar, 
and, taking me by the hair of my head, he made shew as if he 
would cut my throat, or whip off my head at a blow. I was 
frightened to death, and my voice stuck in my throat ; nevertheless, 
recovering myself as well as I could, with a trembling and doleful 
voice I used such entreaties as prevailed with him to suspend the 
execution of his rigorous purpose. Finally, he sent for all the duennas 
of the palace, being those here present, and after having exaggerated 
our fault and inveighed against the qualities of duennas, their wicked 
plots and worse intrigues, at the same time charging them with all 
the blame that I alone deserved, he said he would not chastise us 
with capital punishment, but with other lengthened pains, which 
would put us to a kind of civil and perpetual death. The very 
moment that he made an end of speaking, we all felt the pores of 
our faces open, and a pricking pain all over them like the pricking 
of needles. Immediately we clapped our hands to our faces, and 
found them in the condition you shall see presently." 

Then the Dolorida and the rest of the duennas, lifted up the 
veils which concealed them, and discovered their faces all planted 
with beards, some red, some black, some white and some piebald. 
At this sight the duke and duchess seemed to wonder, Don Quixote 
and Sancho Panza were amazed, and all present astonished. The 
Trifaldi proceeded : 

" Thus that wicked and evil-minded felon Malambruno punished 
us, covering the soft smoothness of our faces with the ruggedness 
of these bristles. Would to Heaven he had struck off our heads 
with his enormous scimitar, rather than have obscured the light of 
our countenances with these brushes that overspread them ! for, 

noble lords and lady, if we rightly consider it , and what 

1 am now going to say I would speak with rivers of tears ; but 
the consideration of our misfortune, and the seas our eyes have 



already wept, keep them without moisture, and as dry as beards of 
corn, therefore I will speak it without tears. I say then, whither 
can a duenna with a beard go ? what father or what mother will bewail 
her ? who will succour her ? for if, when her grain is the smoothest 
and her face tortured with a thousand sorts of washes and ointments, 
she can find scarcely any body to shew kindness to her, what must 
she do when her face is become a wood ? O ye duennas, my dear 
companions, in an unlucky hour were we born, and in an evil minute 
did our fathers beget us ! " So saying, the Trifaldi feigned to faint 





ERILY and of a 

¥ truth, all who take 
pleasure in such 
histories as this, 
ought to be thankful 
to its original 
author Cid Hamet, 
for his curious ex- 
actness in recording 
^ the minutest cir- 
cumstances thereof, 
without omitting anything how trifling soever, but bringing every 
thing distinctly to light. He paints thoughts, discovers imagination, 
answers the silent, clears up doubts, resolves arguments and, 
lastly, manifests the least atoms of the most inquisitive desire. 
O most celebrated author! O happy Don Quixote! O famous 
Dulcinea ! O facetious Sancho Panza ! live each, jointly and severally, 
infinite ages for the general pleasure and pastime of the living ! 

Now the story says that when Sancho saw the Dolorida faint away, 
he cried : " Upon the faith of an honest man, and by the blood ot 
all my ancestors the Panzas, I swear I never heard or saw, that 
my master never told me, and that such an adventure as this never 
entered into his thoughts. A thousand devils take thee (I would 
not curse anybody) for an enchanter and a giant, Malambruno ! 
VOL. III. 2 A 


Couldst thou find no punishment to inflict upon these sinners but 
that of bearding them ? Had it not been better (I am sure it had 
been better for them) to have whipt off half their noses, though 
they had snufliled for it, than to have clapped them on beards ? I 
v^rill lay a vv^ager they have not wherewith to pay for shaving." — 
" That is true, sir," answered one of the twelve ; " we have not 
wherewithal to keep ourselves clean. Therefore, to shift as well 
as we can, some of us use sticking plasters of pitch. These, 
applied to the face and pulled off with a jerk, leave us as sleek and 
smooth as the bottom of a stone mortar. Though there are women 
in Gandaya who go from house to house to take off the hair of 
the body, and shape the eye-brows, and do other jobs pertaining to 
women ^^^ ; — yet we, who are my lady's duennas, would never have 
any thing to do with them; for most of them smell of the 
procuress ; and if we are not relieved by signor Don Quixote, with 
beards shall we be carried to our graves." — "Mine," cried Don 
Quixote, " shall be plucked off in the country of the Moors, 
rather than not free you from yours." 

By this time the countess Trifaldi was come to herself. " The 
murmuring sound of that promise, valorous knight," said she, 
" reached my ears in the midst of my swoon, and was the occasion 
of my coming out of it, and recovering my senses. So once again 
I beseech you, illustrious, errant and invincible sir, that your 
gracious promises may be converted into deeds." — "It shall not 
rest with me," answered Don Quixote. " Inform me, madam, 
what it is I am to do, for my inclination is fully disposed to serve 
you." — "The case is," answered the Dolorida, "that from hence 
to the kingdom of Gandaya, if you go by land, it is five thousand 
leagues, one or two more or less. But if you go through the air 
in a direct line, it is three thousand two hundred and twenty-seven. 
You must know also, that Malambruno told me that, when fortune 
should furnish me vdth the knight our deliverer, he would send 
him a steed, much better and with fewer vicious tricks than a 

5o<5 These women, whose office was very popular in Cervantes* time, were then 
called velleras. 



post-horse returned to his stage, for it is to be that very wooden 
horse, upon which the vahant Peter of Provence carried off the fair 

Magalona ^^7. This horse is governed by a peg he has in his 
forehead, which serves for a bridle, and he flies through the air 
with such swiftness, that one would think the devil himself carried 
him. This same horse, according to ancient tradition, was the 
workmanship of the sage Merlin, who lent him to Count Peter, 
who was his friend, and who took great journeys on the wooden 
steed's back and stole, as has been said, the fair Magalona, carrying 
her behind him through the air, and leaving all who beheld him 
from the earth staring and astonished. Merlin lent him to none 
but particular friends, or such as paid him a handsome price ; and 
since the grand Peter to this time, we know of nobody that h;^s 
been upon his back. Malambruno procured him by his art, and 

«" Cervantes took the idea of his wooden horse from the History of the fair 
Maffahna, daughter of the king of Naples, and of Peter, son of the Count of Provence, 
a chivulric romance, printed at Seville in 1535. Chaucer, the father of English poetry, 
who died in 1400, speaks of a horse similar to this, which belonged to Canxbuscan, king 
of Tartary ; he Hew through the air and was guided by means of a peg situated in his 
ear. Cambuscan's horse, however, was of bronze. 



keeps him in his power, making use of him in the joumies he 
often takes through divers parts of the world, to-day he is here, 
to-morrow in France, and the next day in Potosi, and the best of 
it is, that this same horse neither eats nor sleeps, nor wants any 
shoeing, and ambles such a pace though the air, without wings, 
that his rider may carry a goblet of water in his hand without 
spilling a drop, he travels so smooth and easy. This made the fair 
Magalona take such great delight in riding him." — ** For smooth 
and easy goings," interrupted Sancho, "commend me to my 
Dapple. It is true that he goes not through the air ; but, by land, 
I will match him against all the amblers in the world." 

This set the company laughing, and the Dolorida proceeded : 
" Now this horse, if Malambruno intends to put an end to our 
misfortune, will be here with us within half an hour after it is dark; 
for he told me that the sign by which I should be assured of having 
found that knight I sought after, should be the sending me the 
horse to the place where the knight was, with conveniency and 
speed." — "And pray," demanded Sancho, "how many can ride 
upon this same horse ? " — "Two persons," answered the Dolorida, 
"one on the saddle, and the other behind on the crupper, and 
generally these two persons are the knight and his squire, when 
there is no stolen damsel in the case." — " I should be glad to know, 
madam Dolorida," said Sancho, " the name of this horse." — " His 
name," answered the Dolorida, " is not Pegasus, as was that of 
Belerophon, not Bucephalus, as was that of Alexander the Great, 
nor Brilladore, as was that of Orlando Furioso, nor is it Bayarte, 
which belonged to Reynaldos of Montalvan, nor Frontino which 
was Rogero's, nor is it Bootes or Peritoa, as they say the horses of 
the sun were called ^^^, neither is he called Orelia, the horse which 
the unfortunate Roderigo, the last king of the Goths in Spain, 
mounted, in the battle wherein he lost his kingdom and Kfe." — " I 

^"^ Bootes is not one of the horses of the Sun, but a constellation situated near 
the Great Bear. Nor must the other be called Peritoa, but Pyroeis, according to 
Ovid {Metam lib. ii.) : 

Interea volucres Pyroeis, Eous et iEthon, 

Solis equi, quartusque Phlegon, hinnitibus auras 

Flammiferis implent, pedibusque repagula pulsant. 


will venture a wager," cried Sancho, " that since they have given him 
none of those famous and well-known names, neither have they given 
him that of my master's horse Rocinante, which in propriety exceeds 
all that have been hitherto named." — " True," answered the bearded 
countess ; " but still it suits him well, for he is called Clavileno the 
Winged s^^, which name answers to his being of wood, to the peg in 
his forehead, and to the swiftness of his motion. Thus, in respect of 
his name, he may very well come in competition with the renowned 
Rocinante." — " I dislike not the name," replied Sancho ; " but with 
what bridle or halter is he guided ;" — " I have already told you," 
answered the Trifaldi, " that he is guided by a peg. The knight who 
is mounted on his back, by turning it this way or that, makes him go 
either aloft in the air, or else sweeping, and, as it were, brushing the 
earth, or in the middle region, which is what is generally aimed at, 
and is to be kept to in all well-ordered actions." — " I have a great 
desire to see him," answered Sancho ; " but to think that I will 
get upon him, either in the saddle, or behind upon the crupper, is 
to look for pears upon an elm-tree. It were a good jest indeed for 
me, who can hardly sit my own Dapple, though upon a pannel 
softer than silk, to think now of getting upon a crupper of boards, 
without either pillow or cushion. In good faith, I do not intend to 
flay myself to take off anybody's beard. Let every one shave as 
he likes best ; I shall not bear my master company in so long a 
journey. Besides, I am out of the question, for I can be of no 
service towards the shaving these beards, as I am for the disen- 
chanting of my lady Dulcinea." — " Indeed but you can, friend," 
answered the Trifaldi, " and of so much service that without you, as 
I take it, we are likely to do nothing at all." — " In the king's name,'* 
cried Sancho, " what have squires to do with their master's adven- 
tures ? Must they run away with the fame of those they accom- 
plish, and must we undergo the fatigue ? Body of me ! did the 
historians but say such a knight achieved such and such an 
adventure, with the help of such a one his squire, without 

•* Clavileno el aligero. A name formed of the words, clavija a peg, and leno, a 
piece of wood. 


whom it had been impossible for him to finish it, it were something; 
but you shall have it drily written thus: *Don Paralipomenon 
of the Three Stars achieved the adventure of the six Vampires,' 
vnthout naming his squire, who was present all the while, as 
if there had been no such person in the world. I say again, good my 
lord and lady, my master may go by himself, and much good may it 
do him. I will stay here by my lady duchess. Perhaps, when he 
comes back, he may find lady Dulcinea's business pretty forward ; 
for I intend, at idle and leisure whiles, to give myself such a whip- 
ping-bout that not a hair shall interpose to ward off its rigour." — 
" For all that, honest Sancho," interrupted the duchess, "you 
must bear your master company, if need be, and that at the 
request of good people. It would be a great pity the faces of these 
ladies should remain thus bushy through your needless fears." — 
" In the king's name, once more," replied Sancho, " were 
this piece of charity undertaken for modest sober damsels, or for 
poor innocent hospital-girls, a man might venture upon some pains- 
taking. But to endure it to rid duennas of their beards, with a 
murrain to them, I had rather see them all bearded from the 
highest to the lowest, and from the nicest to the most slatternly." — 
" You are upon very bad terms with the duennas, friend Sancho." 
said the duchess, " and are much of the Toledo apothecary's mind. 
By my troth you are in the wrong. I have duennas in my family 
fit to be patterns to all duennas, and here stands Donna Rodriguez, 
who will not contradict me." — " Your excellency may say what you 
please," quoth Rodriguez, "and God knows the truth of every 
thing good or bad, bearded or smooth ; such as we are our mothers 
brought us forth like other women, and since God cast us into the 
world, he knows for what. I rely upon his mercy, and not upon 
anybody's beard whatever." — " Enough, mistress Rodriguez," said 
Don Quixote ; " and madam Trifaldi and company, I trust that 
God will look upon your misfortunes with an eye of goodness, and 
that Sancho will do what I command him. I wish Clavileno were 
once come, and that Malambruno and I were at it, for I am 
confident no razor would more easily shave your lordships' beards, 
than mv sword shall shave off Malambruno's head from his shoulders. 



Though God permits the wicked to prosper, it is but for a 

" Ah !" cried the Dolorida, " may all the stars of the celestial 
regions, valorous knight, behold your worship with eyes of 
benignity, and infuse into your heart all prosperity and courage, to 
be the shield and refuge of our reviled and rejected order, abomi- 
nated by apothecaries, murmured at by squires, and scoffed at by 
pages. Ill betide the wretch who, in the flower of her age, does 
rather profess herself a nun than a duenna. Unfortunate we, the 
duennas, though descended in a direct male line from Hector of 
Troy, our mistresses will never forbear thou-ing us, were they to be 
made queens for it. O giant Malambruno ! who, though thou art an 
enchanter, art very punctual in thy promises, send us now the 
incomparable Clavileno, that our misfortune may have an end ; for, 
if the heats come on, and our beards continue, woe be to us." 

The Trifaldi uttered these words in so heart-rending a voice,' 
that she drew tears from the eyes of all the by-standers; even 
Sancho's eyes were moistened with tears, and he purposed in his 
heart to accompany his master to the farthest part of the world, if 
on that depended the clearing of those venerable faces of their wool. 





N the meanwhile night 
came on, and with it 
the point of time named 
for the arrival of the 
famous horse Clavileno. 
His stay greatly per- 
plexed Don Quixote, 
making him think that, 
since Malambruno de- 
layed sending him, 
either he was not the 
knight for whom this adventure was reserved, or Malambruno 
durst not encounter him in single combat. But behold on a 
sudden four savages enter the garden, all clad in green ivy, and 
bearing on their shoulders a large wooden horse. They set him 
upon his legs on the ground, and one of the savages spoke : " Let 
the knight," said he, " who has courage to do it, mount this machine." 
** Not I," interrupted Sancho, *' for neither have I courage, nor am 
I a knight." The savage proceeded : " And let the squire, if he have 
one, get up behind, and trust the valorous Malambruno ; for no 
other person's sword or malice shall hurt him. There is only to 
screw the pin he has in his forehead, and he will bear his riders 
through the air to the place where Malambruno expects them. 
But lest the height and sublimity of the way should make their 


heads swim, tlieir eyes must be covered till the horse neighs. His 
neighing shall be the signal of his arrival at his journey's end." 
This said, and leaving Clavileno, the four savages returned with 
courteous demeanour by the way they came. 

As soon as the Dolorida espied the horse, she said to Don Quixote, 
with tears in her eyes : " Valorous knight, Malambruno has kept 
his word ; here is the horse ; our beards are increasing, and every 
one of us, with every hair of them, beseech you to shave and shear 
us, since in order to do so you have only to mount, with your squire 
behind you, and so give a happy beginning to your new journey." 
" That I will, with all my heart and most willingly , madam Trifaldi," 
replied Don Quixote, " without staying to procure a cushion, or 
put on spurs, to avoid delay, so great is the desire I have to see 
your ladyship and all these duennas shaven and clean." — " That 
will not I," said Sancho, " with a bad or a good will, or in any 
wise. If this shaving cannot be performed without my riding 
behind, let my master seek some other squire to bear him company 
and these madams some other way of smoothing their faces, for I 
am no wizard to delight in travelling through the air. Besides, 
what will my islanders say when they hear that their governor is 
taking the air upon the wings of the wind ? Furthermore, it being 
three thousand leagues hence to Gandaya, if the horse should tire, 
or the giant be out of humour, we shall be half a dozen years in 
coming back, and, by that time, there will be neither island nor 
islanders in the world that will know me ; and, since it is a common 
saying that the danger lies in the delay, and, when they give you 
a heifer, make haste with the halter, the gentlewomen's beards 
must excuse me, but Saint Peter is well at Rome ; 1 mean that I 
am very well in this house, where they make much of me, and from 
the master of which I expect so great a benefit as to be made a 

" Friend Sancho," rejoined the duke, " the island I have 
promised you is not a floating one, nor will it run away. It is so 
fast rooted in the abyss of the earth, that it cannot he plucked up 
or stirred from the place where it is at three pulls. And since 
you know there is no kind of office of any considerable value, but 

VOL. I IT. 2 B 



is procured by some kind of bribe, more or less ^^o, what I expect 
for this government, is that you go with your master Don Quixote 
to accomphsh and put an end to this memorable adventure. 
Whether you return upon Clavileno with the expedition his speed 
promises, or the contrary fortune betide you, and you come back 
on foot, turned pilgrim, from house to house and from inn to inn, 
immediately on your return you will find your island where you 
left it, and your islanders with the same desire to receive you for 
their governor. My good-will shall always be the same ; and to 
doubt this truth, signor Sancho, would be doing a notorious injury 
to the inclination I have to serve you." — " No more, no more, I 
beseech you, good sir," cried Sancho ; " I am a poor squire and 
cannot carry so much courtesy upon my back. Let my master 
mount, let these eyes of mine be hoodwinked, and commend me to 
God. I would have you also tell me, when we are in our altitudes, 
whether I may or may not pray to God, or invoke the angels to 
protect me." — "You may pray to God, Sancho," answered the 
Trifaldi, " or to whom you will ; for though Malumbruno be an 
enchanter, he is a Christian, and performs his enchantments with 
much sagacity, with great precaution, and without disturbing any 
body." — " Come on then," said Sancho, " God and the most Holy 
Trinity of Gaéta help me," — " Since the memorable adventure of the 
fulling-mills," said Don Quixote, " I never saw Sancho in so much 
fear as now. Were I as superstitious as other people, his pusilla- 
nimity would a little discourage me. But, come hither, Sancho ; 
with the leave of these noble persons, I would have a word or two 
with you in private." 

Leading Sancho aside among some trees in the garden, and 
taking hold of both his hands, he said to him : " You see, brother 
Sancho, the long journey we are going to undertake. Heaven 

*'" The word cohechos (extortion, subornation), signified the douceurs that the 
newly installed in oflfiee was obliged to give to those who had procured him his 
employment. By this means were obtained, in Cervantes' time, not only the civil 
governments and the oflScial employments, but prelatures and the highest ecclesi- 
astical dignities. This infamous traffic, to which Cervantes alludes, was become so 
common, so general, so patent, that Philip III., by a pragmatic dated the 19th March 
1614, imposed very heavy penalties on the solicitors and the protectors who 
should in future become guilty of this corrupt practice. 



knows when we shall return, or what convenience and leisure busi- 
ness will afford us. Therefore my desire is that you retire to your 
chamber, as if to fetch something necessary for the road, and, in a 
twinkling, give yourself if it be but five hundred lashes, in part of 
the three thousand and three hundred you stand engaged for. 
Well begun is half done." — " Before God," cried Sancho, " your 
worship is stark mad. This exemplifies the saying : You see I am 
in haste, and you demand my daughter in marriage. Now that I 
am just going to set down upon a bare board, you would have me 
gall my hams ! Verily, verily, your worship is unreasonable. Let 
us now go and trim these duennas, and, at my return, I promise you 
I will make such despatch to get out of debt, that your worship 
shall be contented ; I say no more." — " With this promise then, 
honest Sancho," answered Don Quixote, " I am somewhat com- 
forted ; I trust you will perform it, for, though you are not over- 
wise, you are true blue." — " I am not blue but brown," said 
Sancho, " and even if I were striped with both, I would make good 
my promise." 

They now came back in order to mount Clavileno. And, as he 
was climbing up to seat himself, Don Quixote said : " Blindfold 
yourself and get up, Sancho ; for whoever he be that sends for us 
from countries so remote, he cannot surely intend to deceive us, 
considering the little glory he will get by deceiving those who 
confide in him. But, supposing the very reverse of what we 
imagine were to happen, no malice can obscure the glory of having 
attempted the exploit." — " Let us begone, sir," said Sancho ; " the 
beards and tears of these ladies have pierced my heart, and I shall 
not eat a bit to do me good till I see them restored to their former 
smoothness. Mount, sir, taking care first to close your eyes, for, 
if I am to ride behind, it is plain he who is to be in the saddle 
must get up first." — " That is true," replied Don Quixote ; and 
})ulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he desired the Dolorida 
to cover his eyes close. When this was done, he uncovered them 
again, and said : " If I remember right, I have read in Virgil the 
story of the Palladium of Troy, which was a wooden horse 
dedicated by the Greeks to the goddess Pallas, and filled with 



armed knights who afterwards accomplished the final destruction of 
Troy. It will not, therefore, be amiss to see first what Clavileno 
has in his belly." — " There is no necessity," cried the Dolorida ; 
" for I am confident that Malambruno is incapable of treachery. 
Your worship, sign or Don Quixote, may mount without fear, and 
upon me be it, if any harm happens to you." 

Don Quixote, considering that any farther reply from him, on the 
subject of his personal security, would be a reflection upon his 
courage, without farther contest, moimted Clavileno and tried 
the pin, which screwed about very easily. Having no stirrups, and 
his legs dangling down, he looked like a figure in a Roman triumph, 
painted or woven in an antique piece of Flemish tapestry. 

Little and little, and much against 'his will, Sancho got up 
behind. He adjusted himself the best way he could upon the crupper, 
which he found not over soft. He begged the duke to accommo- 
date him, if it were possible, with some pillow or cushion, though 
it were from the duchess's state sofa, or from one of the page's 
beds, the horse's crupper seeming rather to be of marble than of 
wood. But the Trifaldi observed that Clavileno would not endure 
any kind of furniture upon him ; she added that he might sit 
sideways like a woman, and then he would not be so sensible of 
the hardness. Sancho did so ; and, saying adieu, he suffered his 
eyes to be blindfolded. But, soon putting by the bandage and 
looking sorrowfully and with tears upon all the folks in the garden, 
he begged them to assist him in this critical moment with two 
Pater nosters and as many Ave Marias^ as they wished God 
might provide somebody to do the like good office for them in the 
like extremity. "Thief!" cried Don Quixote, " are you upon 
the gallows, or at the last gasp, that you have recourse to such 
doleful prayers ? Are you not, poor spirited and dastardly creature, 
in the same place which the fair Magalona occupied, and from 
which she descended, not to the grave, but to be queen of France, 
if histories lie not ? And I, who sit by you, may I not vie with the 
valorous Peter, who pressed this very seat that I now press ? 
Cover, cover your eyes, heartless animal, and suffer not your fear 
to escape out of your movith, at least in my presence." — '* Blindfold 

PART II. — CHAP. XLI. 197 

me again then," answered Sancho ; " but since you have no mind I 
should commend myself to Heaven, nor that others do it for me, 
what wonder if I am afraid lest some legion of devils may be 
lurking hereabouts to carry us to Peralvillo sii ? " 

Finally, they were both effectually blindfolded, and Don 
Quixote, finding himself fixed as he should be, began to turn the 
peg. Scarcely had he put his fingers to it, when all the duennas 
and the standers-by lifted up their voices, saying : " Fortune be 
your guide, valorous knight ; Victory be with you, intrepid squire. 
Now, now you mount into the air, breaking it with more swiftness 
than an arrow ; now you begin to surprise and astonish all who 
behold you upon the earth. Sit fast, valorous Sancho, and do not 
totter so, lest you fall; for your downfall will be worse than that of the 
daring youth who aspired to rule the chariot of his father, the 
Sun." Sancho heard the voices, and, nestling closer to his master 
and embracing him with his arms, said : " How can they say, sir, 
we are got so high, when their voices reach us, and they seem to 
be talking here hard by us ? " — " Never mind that, Sancho," 
replied Don Quixote ; " as these adventures and flights are out of 
the ordinary course, you may see and hear anything a thousand 
leagues off. But do not squeeze me so hard, — or you will tumble 
me down ; to say the truth, I cannot see why you are so disturbed 
and frightened ; for I dare safely swear I never was upon the back 
of an easier paced steed in all the days of my life. Methinks we do 
not so much as stir from our place. Banish fear, friend ; for in 
short the business goes as it should and we have the wind right 
aft." — " Even so," answered Sancho ; ** for, on this side, the wind 
blows so strong that a thousand pair of bellows seem to be fanning 

Sancho was right ; they were in effect airing him with several 
huge pairs of bellows. So well was this adventure concerted by 
the duke, the duchess and the steward, that nothing was wanting 

^" In England, one would say to Tyburn, and in France to Montfaucon. Peralvillo 
is a little village on the road from Ciudad Real to Toledo, near which the holy 
hermandad executed criminuls by bow-shot, and exposed the bodies of nudefactor» 
condemned by its edicts. 


to make it complete. When Don Quixote felt the wind : " Without 




doubt, Sancho," said he, " we must by this time have reached the 
second region of the air, where the hail and snows are formed. 
Thunder and lightning are engendered in the third region, and if 
we go on mounting at this rate, we shall shall soon reach the 
regions of fire. Sooth to say, I know not how to manage this peg, 
so as not to mount where we shall be scorched." 

While they were thus discoursing, they felt their faces warmed 
by some flax set on fire at the end of long canes, at some distance. 
Sancho, the first to feel the heat, now cried : " May I be hanged if 
we are not already at that same region of fire, or very near it, for it 
has singed a great part of my beard ; and I have a great mind, sir, to 
peep out and see whereabouts we are." — " By no means," answered 
Don Quixote : " remember the true story of the licentiate Torralva, 
whom devils carried through the air, riding on a cane, with his 

eyes shut. In twelve hours he arrived at Rome, and alighted at 
the tower of Nona, which is a street of that city, and saw all the 
tumult, assault and death of the constable of Bourbon; and the 
next morning he returned to Madrid, where he gave an account of 
all he had seen. Torralva related likewise that, during his passage 
through the air, the devil bid him open his eyes ; and on doing so 
he found himself, to his thinking, so near the body of the moon, 
that he could have laid hold of it with his hand, but he durst not 



look down towards the earth for fear of being giddy 5^^. Hence, 
Sancho, we had better not uncover our eyes; for he who has taken 
upon him the charge of us will give an account of us, and perhaps 
we are now making a point and soaring aloft to a certain height, to 
come sowse down upon the kingdom of Gandaya, like a hawk upon 

a heron. Though to us it does not seem more than half an hour 

512 Doctor Eugenio Torralva was condemned to death as a sorcerer by the 
Inquisition, and executed on the 6th of May, 1531. His trial had commenced 
the 10th of January, 1528. Most of his declarations, gathered during the process, 
have recently been recovered in the Royal Library of Madrid. The following is an 
abridgment of that to which Cervantes alludes : " Demand having been made as to 
whether the said spirit Zequiel had bodily transported him to any place, and how he 
had been transported, he made answer : ' Being at Valladolid in the month of 
May last (in the year 1527), the said Zequiel having seen me and having told me 
that, at that time, Rome was taken by assault and sacked, I communicated this news 
to several persons, and the emperor (Charles V.) knew it himself ; but he would not 
believe it. And, the next night, seeing that no one credited it, the spirit persuaded 
me to go with him, saying that he would take me to Rome and bring me back the 
same night. This was done ; we set out at four o'clock in the afternoon, after 
walking beyond the precincts of Valladolid. "When we were beyond the city 
the spirit said to me : ' No haber paura : fidate de me, que y o te prometo que no 
tendrás ningtm desplacer: per tanto pig lia aquesto in mano.' (This jargon, half 
Italian half Spanish, means : * Fear not, have confidence in me ; I promise you 

PART 11. CHAP. XLI 201 

since we left the garden, believe me, we must have made a great 
deal of way." — " I know nothing as to that," answered Sancho ; " I 
can only say, that if madam Magallanes or Magalona were content 
to ride upon this crupper, her flesh must have been none of ihe 

All this discourse of the two heroes was overheard by the duke 
and duchess and all that were in the garden, to their extreme 
delight. Being now wilhng to put an end to this strange and well- 
concerted adventure, they clapped some lighted flax to Clavileno*s 
tail, and that very instant he, being full of squibs and crackers, blew 
up with a tremendous explosion and threw Don Quixote and 
Sancho, half singed, upon the ground. A short time previously 
to this catastrophe, the Trifaldi, with the whole bearded squadron 
of duennas, vanished, and all those who remained in the garden, 
counterfeiting a trance, lay flat upon the ground. Don Quixote 
and Sancho got up, in but indifferent plight, and looking about 
them on all sides, they were amazed to find themselves in the 
same garden whence they set out, and to see such a number of 
folks stretched upon the ground. But their wonder was increased 
when, on one side of the garden, they perceived a great lance stick- 
ing in the earth, and a smooth piece of white parchment hanging to 
it by two green silken strings, which bore, in large letters of gold, 
the following inscription : 

you that you shall not be harmed. Therefore take hold of this.') And it seemed 
to me, when I laid hold of what he oifered me, that it was a knotted club. And 
the said spirit said to me : ' Cierra ochi ' ^* shut your eyes ') ; and, when I opened 
them, it seemed to me that I was so near to the sea that I could touch it with my 
hand. Afterwards, when I opened my eyes, it seemed that I was in a thick darkness, 
like a cloud, and then a vivid flash of lightning struck terror into my soul. And the 
spirit said to me : * Noli timere, bestia fiera ' (' fear not, ferocious beast ',) and I 
obeyed him ; and when I came to myself, at the end of half an hour, I found myself 
at Rome, on the ground. And the spirit asked me : ' Dove pensate que state adesso ? ' 
(* where do you think you arc now ? '). And I told him that I was in the Street of 
the Tower of Nona, and I heard the fifth hour from noon strike by the clock of the 
castle of Saint Angelo. And we walked together, talking as we went, to the Tower 
of Saint Ginian, where dwelt the (lerman bishop Copis, and I saw several houses 
sacked, and I saw all that was passing at Rome. I returned thence in the same 
manner, in the space of one hour and a half, to Valladolid where the spirit carried 
mc to my dwelling, which is near the monastery of San Benito, etc." 
VOL. III. 2 C 



" The renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha has finished and 
achieved the adventure of the countess Trifaldi, otherw^ise called the 
Duenna Dolorida, and company, only by attempting it. Malumbruno 
is entirely satisfied, and desires no more. The chins of the duennas 
are smooth and clean ; Don Clavijo and Antonomasia have recovered 
their pristine estate. When the squirely whipping shall be accom- 
plished, the white dove shall be delivered from the cruel pounces 
of the hawks that pursue her, and shall find herself in the arms of 
her beloved turtle. So it is ordained by the sage Merlin, the prince 
of enchanters." 

Don Quixote having read the inscription on the parchment, 
understood plainly that it spoke of the disenchantment of Dulcinea. 
Giving abundance of thanks to Heaven for his having achieved so 

PART II. CHAP. XLt. 203 

great an exploit, with so little danger, reducing thereby the vene- 
rable faces of the duennas to their former complexion, he went 
where the duke and duchess lay still insensible. Shaking the duke 
by the arm : " Courage, courage, my good lord," said he ; "the 
adventure is over, without damage to soul or body, as yon register 
plainly shews." Gradually, and like one awaking out of a sound 
sleep, the duke came to himself, and in like manner the duchess 
and all who were in the garden, with such shew of wonder and 
affright, that what they had so well acted in jest seemed almost to 
have happened in earnest. The duke read the scroll with his 
eyes half shut, and presently embraced Don Quixote with open 
arms, assuring him he was the bravest knight that ever lived. 
Sancho looked up and dowm for the Dolorida, to see what kind of 
face she had now she was beardless, and whether she was as hand- 
some vidthout it as her gallant presence seemed to promise. But 
he was told that the moment Clavileno came flaming down through 
the air, and tumbled upon the ground in fragments, the whole 
squadron of duennas, with the Trifaldi, vanished, their beards dis- 
appearing at the same time, roots and all. 

The duchess inquired of Sancho how it fared with him in his 
long voyage. " I perceived, madam," answered Sancho, " as my 
master told me, that we were passing by the region of fire, and I 
had a mighty mind to peep a little ; but my master, though I asked 
his leave, would not consent to it, and T, who have I know not what 
spice of curiosity, and a desire of knowing what is forbidden and 
denied me, softly and imperceptibly shoved up the handkerchief 
near my nostrils. I thence contrived to look down towards the 
earth. Methought it was no bigger than a grain of mustard-seed, 
and the men that walked upon it little bigger than hazel-nuts ; 
I leave you to judge, madam, how high we must have been then." 
— " Have a care, friend Sancho," interrupted the duchess, " what 
you say. It is plain you saw not the earth, but the men only that 
walked upon it, for if the earth appeared but like a grain of mustard- 
seed, and each man like a hazel-nut, one man alone must needs 
cover the whole earth." — " That is true," answered Sancho ; "but 
for all thai I had a side view of it, and saw it all." — "Take heed, 


Sancho," rejoined the duchess ; ** for, by a side view, one does not 
see the whole of what one looks at." — " I do not understand these 
kind of views," replied Sancho. " I only know it is fit your lady- 
ship should understand that, since we flew by enchantment, by 
enchantment T might see the whole earth, and all the men, 
whichever way I looked ; if you do not believe this, neither will 
your ladyship believe me when I tell you that, thrusting up the 
handkerchief close to my eyebrows, I found myself so near to the 
sky that from me to that was not above a span and a half, and I can 
take my oath, madam, that it is vastly huge. It fell out that we 
passed by where the seven little she-goats ^^^ are, and, upon my 
conscience and soul, having been in my childhood a goatherd in my 
own country, I no sooner saw them than I felt a longing desire to 
divert myself with them awhile, and had I not done it, I verily think 
I should have burst. Well, then, what did I then? Without 
saying a word to any body, not even to my master, fairly and softly 
I slipped down from Clavileno, and played with those she-goats, 
which are as gentle as gillyflowers and as sweet as violets, about 
the space of three quarters of an hour ; and all the while Clavileno 
moved not from the place, nor stirred a foot." 

" And while honest Sancho was diverting himself with the goats," 
demanded the duke, "how did signor Don Quixote amuse himself?" 
Don Quixote answered : " As these and the like accidents are out 
of the order of nature, no wonder Sancho says what he does. For 
my own part, I can say I neither looked up nor down, and saw 
neither heaven nor earth, neither sea nor sands. It is very true I 
was sensible that I passed through the region of the air, and even 
touched upon that of fire ; but that we passed beyond it, I cannot 
believe. Effectively, the fiery region being between the sphere of 
the moon and the utmost regions of the air, we could not reach that 
heaven where remain the seven goats Sancho mentions, without 
being burnt, and since we were not burnt, either Sancho lies, or 
Sancho dreams." — " I neither lie nor dream," answered Sancho ; 
" do but ask me the marks of those same goats, and by them you 

^^3 The name given by Spanish peasants to the constellation of the Pleiades. 



may guess whether 1 speak the truth or not." — " Tell us then, 
Sancho," said the duchess. *' They are," replied Sancho, " two of 
them green, two carnation, two blue, and one speckled." — " A new 
kind of goats those same," rejoined the duke; **in our region of the 
earth we have no such colours, I mean, goats of such colours." — 
" The reason is plain," cried Sancho. " There must be a difference 
between the goats of heaven and those of earth." — " Pr'ythee, 
Sancho," said the duke, was there ever a he-goat * among them ? " 
"No, Sir," answered Sancho; "for I am given to understand that 
no horned animal can pass beyond the horns of the moon." 

The duchess forbore asking Sancho any more questions about 
his journey, perceiving he was in a humour for rambling all over the 
heavens, and giving an account of what passed there, without having 
stirred from the garden. Finally, this was the conclusion of the 
adventure of the Duenna Dolorida, which furnished the duke and 
duchess with matter of laughter, not only at that time, but for 
their whole lives, and Sancho something to relate for ages, had he 
lived so long. Don Quixote, approaching Sancho, whispered in his 
ear : " Sancho, since you would have us believe all you have seen in 
heaven, I expect you should believe what I saw in the cavern 
of Montesinos ; I say no more." 

* Cabrón. A jest on the double nH ¡ininjj; of that word, which signifies both a 
he-goat and a cuckold. Sancho, by his answer, seems to take the jest. 







IGHT-HEARTED and joyful at the glorious 
success of the adventure of the Dolorida, 
the duke and duchess resolved to carry 
the jest still farther, seeing how fit a 
subject they had to pass it on for earnest. 
Accordingly, having projected a scheme, 
and given the necessary orders to their 
servants and vassals with reference to 
their behaviour to Sancho in his govern- 
ment of the promised island, the day 
following Clavileno's flight the duke bid Sancho prepare and get 
himself in readiness to go to be a governor, adding that his islanders 
already wished for him as for rain in May. 

Sancho bowed low and said : " Ever since my descent from 
heaven ; ever since from its lofty height 1 beheld the earth and 
observed it to be so small, the great desire I had of being a governor 
is, in part, cooled. What grandeur is it to command on a grain of 
mustard-seed ? or what dignity or dominion is there in governing 

PART II. — €HAP. XLII. 207 

half-a-dozen men no bigger than hazel-nuts? for me thought the whole 
earth was nothing more. If your lordship would be pleased to give 
me but some small portion of heaven, though it were no more than 
half a league, I would accept it with a better will than the biggest 
island in the world." — " Look you, friend Sancho," answered the 
duke, " I can give away no part of heaven, though no bigger than 
one's nail, for God has retained the disposal of those favours and 
graces in his own power. What I can give you, I give you, an 
island ready made, round and sound, well proportioned, and above 
measure fruitful and abundant, where, if you manage dexterously, 
you may acquire, with the riches of the earth, the treasures of 
Heaven." — " Well then," answered Sancho, " let this island come ; 
and it shall go hard but I will be such a governor that, in spite of 
rogues, I shall go to Heaven. Think not it is out of covetousnesst 
that I forsake my humble cottage, and aspire to greater things, but 
for the desire I have to taste how it relishes to be a governor." — " If 
once you taste it, Sancho," said the duke, "you will eat your 
fingers after it, so very sweet a thing it is to command and be obeyed. 
Sure I am, when your master comes to be an emperor (and 
doubtless he wiU be one in the way his afíairs are), no one will be 
able to wrest it from him, and it will grieve and vex him to the 
heart to have been so long a time without being one." — " Sir," replied 
Sancho, " I am of opinion it is good to command, though it be 
but a flock of sheep." — " Let me be buried wdth you, Sancho, for 
you know something of every thing," answered the duke ; " and 
I doubt not, you ^vill prove such a governor as your wit seems to 
promise. This must suffice for the present, and take notice that 
to-morrow without fail you shall depart for the government of the 
island, and this evening you shall be fitted vdth a convenient garb 
and all things necessary for your departure." — "Let them dress 
me," said Sancho, "how they will; for, howsoever I go clad, I 
shall still be Sancho Panza." — " That is true," said the duke ; 
" but our dress must be suitable to the employment or dignity we 
are in, for it would be preposterous for a lawyer to be habited like 
a soldier, or a soldier like a priest. You, Sancho, must go dressed 
partly like a scholar, and partly like a captain, for, in the island I 



give you, arms are as necessary as letters, and letters as arms." — 
" Of letters," answered Sancho, " I know but little ; for I can 
scarcely say the A B C ; but it is sufficient to have the christus * 
to be a good governor. As to arms, I shall handle such as are 
given me till I fall, and God be my guide." — " With so good a 
memory," said the duke, " Sancho can never err." 

Don Quixote now came up. When he learned what had 
passed, and how suddenly Sancho was to depart to his government, 
with the duke's leave, he took him by the hand and carried him 
with him to his chamber, proposing to give him advice how to 
behave himself in his employment. Having entered the apartment 
he shut the door after him, and, almost by force, made Sancho sit 
down by him, and, with a composed voice, addressed him as follows : 

" Infinite thanks give I to Heaven, friend Sancho, that, before 
I have met with any good luck myself, good fortune has come forth 
to meet and receive you. I, who had assigned over my own 
future good success for the payment of your past services, find 
myself still at the beginning of my advancement, whilst you, 
before the due time and against all rule of reasonable expectation, 
find yourself in full possession of your wishes. Others bribe, 
importune, solicit, attend early, pray, persist and yet do not obtain 
their object. Another comes, and, without knowing how or which 
way, carries that employment or office against a crowd of pre- 
tenders. This makes good the saying : ' In pretensions, luck is all.' 
You, who, in respect to me, without doubt are a blockhead, 
without rising early or sitting up late, without taking any pains at 
all, by the air alone of knight-errantry breathing on you, see 
yourself, without more ado, governor of an island, as if it were 
a matter of trifling moment. All this I say, O Sancho, that you 
may not ascribe the favour done you to your own merit, but rather 
give thanks, first to Heaven, which disposes things so sweetly, in 
the next place to the grandeur inherent in the profession of knight- 

* The cross put at the beginning of the A, B, C, thence called the Christ-cross-row. 


-CHAP. XLII. 209 

errantry. Now, your heart being disposed to believe what I have 
been saying, be attentive, son, to your new Cato ^i*, who will be 
your counsellor, your north-star and guide, to conduct and steer 
you safe into port through the raging and tempestuous sea whereon 
you are going to be launched, for offices and great employments 
are nothing else but a profound gulph of confusions. 

"First, My son, fear God; for to fear him is wisdom, and, 
being wise, you cannot err. 

Secondly, Bear constantly in mind who you were and endeavour 
to know yourself, which is the most difficult point of knowledge 
imaginable. The knowledge of yourself will keep you from 
puffing yourself up, like the frog who strove to equal the ox in 

size. The consideration of your having been a swineherd in your 
own country will be, to the wheel of your fortune, like the peacock's 
ugly feet s^^." — " True," interrupted Sancho ; " when I was a boy, I 

•" Cervantes here speaks either of Cato the censor, or of Dionysius Cato, the 
author of the Disticha de morifms, ad JUium, whose work was then classical in the 
universities of Spain. Of this Dionysius Cato nothing is known, excepting that he 
lived after Lucan, for he cites the latter in his Distiquen. 

"* Alluding to the peacock, which is said to gather in his tail when he looks at 
his feet. Fray Luis de Granada had already said, making use of the same metaphor: 
" Look at the ugliest part about you, and you will immediately gather in the tail of 
your vanity." 

vol.. III. 2D 


kept swine. Later, when I grew towards man, I looked after 

/ivi^-i lítí 

geese, and not after hogs. But this, methinks, is nothing to the 
purpose, for all governors are not descended from the loins of 
kings." — " Granted," replied Don Quixote ; " and therefore those 
who are not of noble descent should temper the gravity of the 
office they bear with a kind of gentle sweetness, which, guided by 
prudence, exempts them from ill-natured murmuring, which no 
state of life can well escape. 

"Value yourself, Sancho, upon the meanness of your family, 
and be not ashamed to own that you descend from peasants. When 
people see that you j^ourself are not ashamed, no one will endeavour 
to make you so ; and pique yourself rather on being a virtuous 
mean man than a proud sinner. Infinite is the number of those 
who, born of low extraction, have risen to the highest dignities, 
both papal and imperial. Of this truth I could produce examples 
enough to tire you. 

" Take notice Sancho, if you take virtue for your guide, and 
value yourself upon doing virtuous actions, you need not envy lords 
and princes. For blood is inherited and virtue acquired, and 
virtue has an intrinsic worth, which blood has not. 


" This being so, as it really is, if peradventure one of your kin- 
dred come to see you, when you are in your island, do not despise 
nor affront him, but receive, cherish and make much of him. By 
so doing you will please God, who will have nobody despise his 
workmanship, and act agreeably to nature. 

" If you take your wife along with you (and it is not proper for 
those who govern to be long without one), teach, instruct, and 
polish her from her natural rudeness. For all that a discreet 
governor can acquire is dissipated and lost by an ill-bred and 
foolish woman. 

" If you chance to become a widower, a thing which may 
happen, and your station entitles you to a better match, seek not 
such an one as may serve you for a hook and angling-rod, or a 
capuchin to say / want it not ^^^. Believe me, whatever the judge's 
wife receives, the husband must account for at the general judg- 
ment, and shalL pay fourfold, after death, for what he made no 
reckoning of in his life. 

" Be not governed by the law of your own will ^^^^ which is wont 
to bear much sway vdth the ignorant, who presume upon being 

" Let the tears of the poor find more compassion, but not more 
justice than the informations of the rich. 

" Endeavour to sift out the truth amidst the presents and 
promises of the rich, as well as among the sighs and importunities 
of the poor. 

"'•^ In allusion to the proverb : No, no, I will not have it, but throw it into my 
capuchin. The Judges at that day wore hooded mantles {capos con capilla). 

'" />fl ley del encaje. This means the arbitrary interpretation of the law given by 
the judges. 


" When equity can and ought to take place, lay not the whole 
rigour of the law upon the delinquent ; for the reputation of the 
rigorous judge is not better than that of the compassionate one. 

" If perchance the rod of justice be warped a little, let it not be 
by the weight of a gift, but that of mercy. 

" If it happen that the cause of your enemy comes before you, 
fix not your mind on the injury done you, but upon the merits of 
the case. 

" Let not private affection blind you in another man's cause. The 
errors you would commit thereby would be irremediable, and, if 
there should be a remedy, it would be at the expense both of your 
reputation and fortune. 

" If a beautiful woman comes to demand justice, turn away your 
eyes from her tears, and your ears from her sighs ; consider at 
leisure the substance of her request, unless you have a mind your 
reason should be drowned in her tears, and your integrity in her 

" Him you are to punish with deeds, do not evil-entreat with 
words ; for the pain of the punishment is enough for the wretch to 
bear, without the addition of ill language. 

" In the criminal who falls under your jurisdiction, consider the 
miserable man, subject to the infirmities of our depraved nature. 
As far as in you lies, without injuring the contrary part}^ shew 
pity and clemency ; for, though the attributes of God are all equal, 
that of mercy is more pleasing and attractive in our eyes than that 
of justice. 

" If, Sancho, you observe these precepts and these rules, your 
days will be long and your fame eternal, your recompense full and 
your felicity unspeakable. You shall match your children as you 



please ; they, and your grand-children shall inherit titles ; you shall 
live in peace and favour with all men ; and, at the end of your life, 
death shall find you in a sv^^eet and matured old age, and your eyes 
shall be closed by the tender and pious hands of your grand-chil- 
dren's children. What I have hitherto taught you, Sancho, bears 
reference to the adorning your mind. Listen now to precepts 
which concern the adornments of your body." 

21 i 




N hearing the foregoing dis- 
course of Don Quixote, nobody 
would have conceived him to 
be other than a prudent and 
intelligent person ? But, as it 
has been often and often said, 
in the progress of this grand 
history, he talked foolishly 
only when chivalry was the 
subject, and in the rest of his 
conversation shewed himself 
the possessor of a clear and good understanding, insomuch that 
his actions perpetually betrayed his judgment, and his judgment 
gave the lie to his actions. But in these second instructions given 
to Sancho, he showed a great deal of pleasantry, and pushed his 
discretion and his madness to the highest pitch. 

Sancho listened to him most attentively, endeavouring to preserve 
his instructions in memory, like one that intended to observe them, 
and, by their means, hoped to be safely delivered of the pregnancy 
of his government. Don Quixote proceeded as follows: 

" As to what concerns the government of your own person and 


family, Sancho, in the first place I enjoin you to be cleanly, and 
to pare your nails, instead of letting them grow, as some do, whose 
ignorance makes them believe that long nails beautify the hands ; 
as if that excrescence which they preserve so carefully were a nail, 
whereas it is rather the talon of a lizard-hunting kestrel : a monstrous 
and revolting abuse ! 

" Go not loose and unbuttoned, Sancho ; a slovenly dress be- 
tokens a careless mind, unless the discomposure and negligence fall 
under the article of cunning and design, as was judged to be the 
case of Julius Caesar ^i^. 

"Feel, with discretion, the pulse of what your oflice may be 
worth ; and if it will enable you to give liveries to your servants, 
give them such as are decent and useful rather than showy and 
modish. Above all, divide between your servants and the poor; I 
mean, if you can keep six pages, clothe but three, and three of the 
poor. Thus you will have pages for heaven and for earth ; a new 
way of giving liveries, which the vain-glorious never thought of. 

" Eat neither garlick nor onion, lest people guess by the smell 
at your low birth. Walk leisurely, speak deliberately, but not so 
as to seem to be hearkening to yourself, for all affectation is vicious, 

" Eat little at dinner, and less at supper ; the health of the whole 
body is tempered in the forge of the stomach. 

" Be temperate in drinking, considering that excess of wine 
neither keeps secrets nor performs promises. 

" Take heed, Sancho, not to chew on both sides of your mouth 
at once, nor to eruct before company." — " I do not understand your 

"* Suetonius says in eflFect (chap, xlv.) that Ceesar dressed negligently, and did 
not tighten the sash of his toga. It was a piece of aflfectation on his part, his object 
being to be taken for an effeminate man, and that no outwurd signs might appear of 
his intellect and courage. Hence, when Cicero was asked why he had taken Pompey's 
part rather than that of Csesar : ** Csesar," answered he, " deceived me by his manner 
of girding his toga." 


eructing," interrupted Sancho. " To eruct," said Don Quixote, 
" means to belch, a filthy though very significant word ; therefore 
your nice people have recourse to the Latin, and, instead of to 
belch, say to eruct, and, instead of belchings, eructations. Though 
some do not understand these terms, it is no great matter ; by usage 
they will come to be generally understood, and thus language *, 
over which the vulgar and custom bear sway, becomes amplified and 
enriched." — " In truth, sir," cried Sancho, " one of the counsels 
and instructions I intend to carry in my memory shall be this of 
not belching ; for I am wont to do it very frequently." — " Eructing, 
Sancho, and not belching," cried Don Quixote. " Eructing it shall 
be henceforward," said Sancho, " and, in faith, I will not forget it." 

" Likewise, Sancho, intermix not in your discourse that multitude 
of proverbs you are wont. Though proverbs are short sentences, 
you often drag them in so by the head and shoulders, that they 
seem rather cross purposes than sentences." — "God alone can 
remedy that," cried Sancho, "for I know more proverbs than will 
fill a book, and when I talk, they crowd so thick into my mouth 
that they jostle which shall get out first. Then my tongue tosses 
out the first it meets, though it be not always very pat. But, for 
the future, I will take heed to utter such as become the gravity of 
my place ; for, in a plentiful house supper is soon dressed, and he 
that cuts does not deal, and the bell-ringer is safe, and to spend and 
to spare, require judgment." — " So, so, Sancho," cried Don Quixote ; 
" thrust in, rank and string on your proverbs, nobody is going about 
to hinder you. My mother whips me, and I tear on. I am warn- 
ing you to abstain from proverbs, and, in an instant, you pour forth 
a litany of them, which square with what we are upon as well as if 
they fell from the moon. Observe, Sancho, I do not say a proverb 

* Here Cervantes justifies the introduction of expressive words out of one language 
into another, agreeably to Horace's 

Et nova fictaque nuper habebunt verba fidem, si 
Grseco fonte cadant, parce detorta (Ars. Poet. 1. 52.) 

What he says of the force of custom is borrowed from the same poet's 

Si volet Usus, 
Quem penes arbitrium est, et jus et norma loquendi. {Ibid 1. 71. 


is amiss, when skilfully applied; but to accumulate, and string 
them at random, renders a discourse flat and low. 

" When you are on horseback, sit not leaning your body back- 
wards over your saddle, nor carry your legs stiflT, stretched and 
straddling from the horse's belly ; neither dangle them as if you 
were still upon Dapple. Sitting a horse makes some look like 
gentlemen, and others like grooms. 

" Let your sleep be moderate, for he who is not up with the sun 
does not enjoy the day. Take notice, O Sancho, that diligence is 
the mother of good-fortune, and sloth, her enemy, never reached 
the end of a good wish. 

" The last article of advice I shall at this time give you, though 
it concerns not the adorning of the body, yet I would have you 
bear it carefully in mind ; for I believe it will be of no less use to 
you than those I have already given you. It is this : never set 
yourself to decide contests about families, at least by comparing 
them; one must perforce have the advantage, and he who is post- 
poned will hate you, while he who is preferred will not reward you. 

" Your habit shall be nethersocks and stockings, a long pourpoint 
and a mantle somewhat longer ; but for trowsers or trunk-hose think 
not of them : they are not becoming either to cavaliers or governors. 
This is all that occurs to me at present, by way of advice to you. 
As time goes on, and as occasions oflfer, I will adapt my instructions 
to them, provided you take care to inform me of the state of your 

" Sir," answered Sancho, " I see very well that all your 
worship has been saying is good, holy, and profitable. But what 
good will it do me, if I remember nothing of it ? It is true that I 
shall not forget what you have said about not letting my nails 
grow, and about marrying again, if I may. But for your other 
gallimaufries, (|uirks and quillets, I neither do nor vwr shall 

vol, ill. 2 E 



remember any more of them than of last year's clouds. Therefore 
it will be necessary to give me them in writing ; for though I can 
neither read nor write, I will give them to my confessor, that he 
may inculcate them into me whenever there shall be need." — 
" Ah ! sinner that I am ! " cried Don Quixote, " how ill does it 
look in a governor not to be able to read or write ! You must 
know, O Sancho, that for a man not to know how to read, or to be 
left-handed, implies one of these two things : either that he sprung 
from very mean and low parents, or that he was so untoward and 
perverse that no good could be beaten into him. It is a very great 
defect you carry with you, and therefore I would by all means 
have you learn at least to write your name." — "I can sign my 
na,me very well," answered Sancho. " When I was steward of 
the brotherhood in our village, I learned to make certain characters 
like the marks upon a bale of wool, which I was told spelt my 
name : I can likewise, at the worst, pretend my right hand is lame, 
and make another sign for me. There is a remedy for every thing 
but death ; and I, having the command of the staff, will do what I 

please. Besides, he whose father is alcalde * , and I, being a 

governor, am surely something more than alcalde; therefore let 
them come and play at bo-peep. Ay, ay, let them slight and back- 
bite me ; they may come for wool and be sent back shorn, for 
whom God loves, his house smells savoury to him; and, the rich 
man's blunders pass for maxims in the world, and when I am a 
governor, and consequently rich and bountiful to boot, as I intend 
to be, nobody will see my defects. No, no, get yourself honey, 
and clowns will have flies. * As much as you have, so much you 
are worth,' said my gran'am. There is no revenging yourself 
upon a rich man." — "Oh! God's curse light on you, accursed 
Sancho ! " cried Don Quixote at this instant ; " sixty thousand 
devils take you and your proverbs ! You have been stringing of 
them this full hour, and putting me to the tortures of the damned, 
with every one of them. Take my word for it, these proverbs 

* The proverb is Quien padre tiene alcalde seguro va aljudicio. He whose father is 
alcalde goes safe to his trial. 

PART 11. — CHAP. XLIir. 219 

will one day bring you to the gallows ; upon their account your 
subjects will strip you of your government, or at least conspire 
against you. Tell me, where find you them, ignorant ? or how 
apply you them, dunce ? For my own part, to utter but one, and 
apply it properly, I sweat and labour as if I were digging." — . 
" Before God, master of mine," replied Sancho, " your worship 
complains of very trifles. Why the ^evil are you angry, that I 
make use of my own goods since I have no other, nor any stock 
but proverbs upon proverbs. Just now I have four that present 
themselves pat to the purpose. But I will not produce them ; 
for, ' to keep silence well is called Sancho ^^9.' " — " You will never 
be that Sancho," cried Don Quixote ; " you are so far from 
keeping silence well, that you are an errant prate-apace and an 
eternal babbler. But I would fain know what four proverbs 
occurred to you just now, so pat to the purpose. I have been 
running over my own memory, which is a pretty good one, and I 
can think of none." — " Can there be better," said Sancho, " than 
these : * Never venture your fingers between two eye-teeth ; ' to 
* get out of my house,' and * what would you have with my luife ? ' 
there is no reply, and * whether the pitcher hits the stone, or the 
stone hits the pitcher, it is bad for the pitcher.' All these fit to a 
hair. Let no one contest with his governor or his governor's 
substitutes, or he will come off the worst, like him who claps his 
finger between two eye-teeth, and though they be not eye-teeth, so 
they be teeth it matters not. To what a governor says there is no 
replying : it is like * get you out of my house ' and * what busi- 
ness have you with my wife V As to the stone and pitcher, a blind 
man may see into it. So that he who sees a moat in another man's 
eye, should first look to the beam in his own, that it may not be 
said of him : ' the dead woman was afraid of her that was flayed ; ' 
and your worship knows well that ' the fool knows more in his own 
house, than the wise in another man's.' "— " Not so, Sancho,"answered 
Don Quixote ; " the fool knows nothing either in his own house, or 

"• Sancho applies to himself the old saying : Al hufln callar llaman Santo, (to keep 
•ilence is called holy) but changes the last word out of archncHS or ignorance. 



another's, for knowledge is not a structure to be erected upon so 
shallow a foundation as folly. But enough of that, Sancho. If 
you govern ill, yours will be the fault, but the shame will be mine. 
I comfort myself that I have done my duty in advising you as 
seriously and as discreetly as I possibly could. In that I am 
acquitted both of my obligation and my promise. God speed 
you, Sancho, and govern you in your government, and deliver me 
from a suspicion I have that you will turn the whole island topsy- 
turvy. This I might prevent, by letting the duke know what you 
are, telling him that all that paunch-gut and little carcase of thine 

is nothing but a sackful of proverbs and sly remarks." — " Sir," 
replied Sancho, "if your worship thinks I am not fit for this 
government, I renounce it from this moment ; for I love the little 
black of the nail of my soul better than my whole bod}^, and plain 

Sancho can live as well upon bread and onions as governor Sancho can 
upon capon and partridge. Besides, while we are asleep, the great 
and the small, the poor and the rich are all equal. And if your 



worship reflects, you will find, it was your worship that put me 
upon the scent of governing, for I know no more of the government 
of islands than a bustard ; and if you fancy the devil will have me 
if I am a governor, I had rather go Sancho to Heaven, than a 
governor to hell." — " Before God, Sancho," cried Don Quixote, 
" for those last words of yours, I think you deserve to be governor 
of a thousand islands. You are good-natured, without which no 
knowledge is of any value. Pray to God, and endeavour not to err 
in your intention ; I mean, always take care to have a firm purpose 
and design of doing right in whatever business occurs ; Heaven 
constantly favours a good intention. And now let us go to dinner, 
for I believe the lord and lady stay for us." 





ID Hamet, in the original of 
this history, wrote an exordium 
to this chapter which his inter- 
preter did not translate as he had 
written. It was a kind of com- 
plaint the Moor addressed to 
himself, for having undertaken 
a history so dry and so confined 
as that of Don Quixote, thinking 
he must be always talking of him 
and Sancho, without daring to 
launch into digressions and epi- 
sodes of more weight and enter* 
tainment. He adds, that to have his invention, his hand and his 
pen always tied down upon one subject only, and to speak by the 


mouths of a few characters, is an insupportable toil, of no advantage 
to the author ; that, to avoid this inconvenience, he had, in the first 
part, made use of the artifice of introducing novels, such as that of 
the Curious Impertinent and that of the Captain, which are in a 
manner detached from the history ; though most of the other 
episodes introduced are accidents which happened to Don Quixote 
himself, and could not be omitted. He also thought, as he tells us, 
that many readers, carried away by their attention to Don Quixote's 
exploits, could afford none to the novels, and would either run them 
over in haste or with disgust, not considering how fine and artificial 
they were in themselves, as would have been very evident, had they 
been published separately, without being tacked to the extravagan- 
cies of Don Quixote, and the simplicities of Sancho ^2^. He, there- 
fore, in this second part, would introduce no loose nor unconnected 
novels, only some episodes resembling them, such as flow naturally 
from such events as the truth ofíers ; and even these with great 
limitation, and in no more words than are sufiicient to express them. 
Since, therefore, he restrains and confines himself within the narrow 
limits of the narration, though with ability, genius and understand- 
ing sufficient to treat of the whole universe, he desires his pains 
may not be undervalued, but that he may receive applause, not for 
what he writes, but what he has omitted to write. Then he conti- 
nues his history in these terms : 

Don Quixote, in the evening of the day he gave the instructions 
to Sancho, gave them him in writing, that he might get somebody 
to read them to him. But scarcely had he delivered them to Sancho 
when he dropped them, and they fell into the Duke's hands, who 
communicated them to the duchess, and they both wondered afresh 
at the madness and capacity of Don Quixote. In order to carry on 
with their jest, that evening they dispatched Sancho with a large 
retinue to the place, which, to him, was to be an island. The person 
who had the management of the business was a steward of the 

'" Cervantes mean» that he would have done better to have withdrawn these two 
novels from Don Quixote, and included them in his collection of Example Novels ; 
which has since been done by some Editors of his works. 


duke's, a person of pleasantry and discretion, — who had already 
personated the countess Trifaldi with what humour the reader has 
seen. With his own qualifications and the instructions of his lord 
and lady how to behave to Sancho, he performed his part to 
admiration. It fell out that Sancho no sooner cast his eyes on 
this steward than he fancied he saw in his face the very features of 
the Trifaldi, and, turning to his master he said : " Sir, either the 
devil shall run away with me from the place where I stand for an 
honest man and a believer, or your worship shall confess to me that 
the countenance of this same steward of the duke's is the very same 
with that of the Dolorida." Don Quixote looked attentively at the 
major domo and, having viewed him, said to Sancho : *' There is no 
need of the devil's running away with you, Sancho, either as an 
honest man or a believer, though I know not exactly what you 
mean ^21. I see plainly the steward's face is the same with that of the 
Dolorida, and yet the steward is not the Dolorida ; for that would 
imply a palpable contradiction. But this is no time to enter into 
these inquiries, which would involve us in an intricate labyrinth. 
Believe me, friend, we ought earnestly to pray to our Lord to 
deliver us from wicked wizards and enchanters." — " It is no jesting 
matter. Sir," replied Sancho, " for I heard him speak before and 
methought the Trifaldi's voice sounded in my ears. Well, I say no 
more ; but I vdll not fail to be upon the watch henceforward, to see 
whether I can discover any other sign, to confirm or remove my 
suspicion." — " Do so, Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " give me advice 
of all you discover in this afiair, and all that happens to you in your 

At length Sancho set out with a great number of followers. He 
was habited like a magistrate, having on a wide surtout of murry- 
coloured camlet, with a montera of the same, and mounted a la 
gineta * upon a mule. Behind him, by the duke's order, was led 

521 According to Covarrubias {Tesoro de la lengua Castellana), these expressions 
mean on a sudden, unawares, instantly. 

* With short stirrups. 


his Dapple, with a new set of harness decorated with flaunting new 

flame coloured ribbons. Sancho turned back his head every now 
and then to look at his ass, with whose company he was so delighted, 
that he would not have changed conditions with the emperor of 
Germany. On taking leave of the duke and duchess, he kissed 
their hands, and begged his master's blessing, which he gave with 
tears, and Sancho received blubbering. 

Now, loving reader, let honest Sancho depart in peace and in a 
good hour, and expect two bushels of laughter from the accounts 
how he demeaned himself in his employment. In the mean time, 
attend to what befel his master that night, which, if it does not 
make you laugh outright, you will at least open your lips with the 
grin of a monkey, for the adventures of Don Quixote must be 
celebrated either with admiration or laughter. 

VOL. III. 2 F 



It is related then, that scarcely was Sancho departed, when Don 
Quixote began to regret his own solitary condition, and had it been 
possible for him to have recalled the commission, and taken the 
government from him, he would certainly have done it. The duchess 
soon perceived his melancholy, and asked him why he was so sad. " If 
for the absence of Sancho," she added, " there are squires, duennas 
and damsels enough in this house, ready to serve you to your 
heart's desire." — " It is true, madam," answered Don Quixote, 
*^ that I am concerned for Sancho's absence ; but that is not the 
principal cause that makes me appear sad. Of all your excellency's 
kind offers, I accept and choose that only for the good will with 
which they are tendered. For the rest, I humbly beseech your 
excellency that you would be pleased to consent and permit that I 
alone may wait upon myself in my chamber." — " Truly, signor Don 
Quixote," cried the duchess, " it must not be so, you shall be 
served by four of my damsels, all beautiful as flowers." — " To me," 
answered Don Quixote, " they will not be flowers, but very thorns 
pricking me to the soul. They shall no more come into my cham- 
ber, nor anything like it, than they shall fly. If your grandeur 
would continue your favours to me without my deserving them, 
sufler me to be alone, and let me serve myself, within my own 
doors, that I may keep a wall betwixt my passions and my modesty — 
a practice I would not forego for all your highness's liberality 
towards me. In short I will sooner lie in my clothes than consent 
to let anybody help to undress me." — " Enough, enough, signor Don 
Quixote," replied the duchess : " I promise you that I will give orders 
that not so much as a fly shall enter your chamber, much less a damsel. 
I would by no means be accessary to the violation of signor Don 
Quixote's decency ; for, by what I can perceive, the most conspic- 
uous of his many virtues is his modesty. Your worship, sir, may 
undress and dress by yourself your own way, when and how you 
please ; nobody shall hinder you, and in your chamber you will find 
all the necessary utensils, so that you may sleep with the doors 
locked, and have no earthly occasion to open them. A thousand 
ages live the grand Dulcinea del Toboso, and may her name extend 
over the whole surface of the earth, for meriting the love of so 


valiant and so chaste a knight ! May indulgent Heaven infuse 
into the heart of Sancho Panza, our governor, a disposition to 
finish his whipping speedily, that the world may again enjoy the 
beauty of so great a lady ! " 

Don Quixote replied : " Your highness has spoken like yourself, 
for from the mouth of such good ladies, nothing that is bad can 
proceed. Dulcinea will be more happy and more known in the 
world by the praises your grandeur bestows on her, than by those 
of the most eloquent on earth." — " Signor Don Quixote," replied 
the duchess, " a truce to compliments, the hour of supper draws near, 
and the duke may be staying for us. Come, sir, let us sup, and to bed 
by times ; for your yesterday's journey from Gandaya was not so short 
but it must have somewhat fatigued you." — " Not at all, madam," 
answered Don Quixote, " for 1 can safely swear to your excellency, 
that in all my life I never bestrid a soberer or an easier paced beast 
than Clavileno. 1 cannot imagine what possessed Malambruno to part 
with so swift and so gentle a steed, and burn him without more 
ado." — "We may suppose," answered the duchess, ** that, repent- 
ing of the mischief he had done to the TriMdi, her companions 
and other persons, and of the iniquities he had committed as a 
wizard and an enchanter, he had a mind to destroy all the instru- 
ments of his art ; and, as the principal, and that which gave him 
the most disquiet, by having carried him up and down from 
country to country, he burnt Clavileno. Thus his ashes, and the 
trophy of the parchment, have eternalized the valour of the grand 
Don Quixote de la Mancha." 

Don Quixote gave thanks afresh to the duchess, and, when he 
had supped, retired to his chamber alone, not consenting to let any 
body come in to wait upon him, so afraid was he of meeting with 
temptations to move or force him to transgress that modest decency 
he had preserved towards his lady Dulcinea, bearing always in 
mind the chastity of Amadis, the flower and mirror of knights- 
errant. He shut his door after him, and, by the light of two wax 
candles, pulled off his clothes. But while he was pulling off his 
stockings (O mishap unworthy of sucli a personage !) forth burst, 
not sighs, nor any thing else that might discredit his cleanliness, but 



some two dozen stitches of a stocking, which made it resemble a 
lattice-window. The good gentleman was extremely afflicted, and 

would have given an ounce of silver to have had there a drachm of 
green silk, I say green, because his stockings were green. 

Here Ben Engeh* exclaims, and writing on, cries : " O poverty, 
poverty ! I cannot imagine what moved the great Cordovan poet to 
call thee a holy thankless gift ^^2. J^ though a Moor, know very 
well, by the intercourse I have had with the Christians, that holi- 
ness consists in charity, humility, faith, obedience and poverty. 
But, for all that, I say a man must have a great share of the grace 
of God, who can bring himself to be contented with poverty, unless 

'22 This poet was Juan de Mena, who died in 1456. He said, in the two hundred 
and twenty seventh strophe of the Labyrinth, or poem of the Trescientas coplas : 
¡ O vida segura la manza pobreza ! 
¡ O dadiva sancta, desagredecida ! 
Hesiod, in The Hours and Days, had also called poetry apresentfrom the Immortal 


it be that kind of which one of their greatest saints speaks, saying : 
Possess all things as not possessing them ^23. This is called poverty 
in spirit. But thou, O second poverty! (which is that of which 
I am speaking,) why dost thou choose to pinch gentlemen, and such 
as are well-born, rather than other people ^^4 ? Why dost thou force 
them to cobble their shoes, and to wear one button of their coats 
of silk, one of hair and one of glass ? Why must their ruifs be, 
for the most part, ill-ironed and worse starched (by which one may 
see the antiquity of the use of ruíFs and starch) ? " He adds : 
" Wretched well-born gentleman ! who is administring jelly -broths 
to his honour, while he is starving his carcase, dining with his door 
locked upon him, and making a hypocrite of his tooth-pick, with 
which he walks out into the street, after having eaten nothing to 
oblige him to this cleanliness ? — Wretched he, I say, whose skittish 
honour is always ready to start, apprehensive that everybody 
observes a league off the patch upon his shoe, the want of felt on 
his hat, and the threadbareness of his cloak, and the hunger of his 
stomach ! " 

All these melancholy reflections occurred to Don Quixote's 
thoughts upon the rent in his stocking ; but his comfort was that 
Sancho had left him behind a pair of travelling boots, which he 
resolved to put on next day. Finally, he laid himself down, pensive 
and heavy-hearted, as well for lack of Sancho, as for the irrreparable 
misfortune of his stocking, whose stitches he would gladly have 
darned, though with silk of another colour, which is one of the 
greatest signs of misery a gentleman can give in the course of his 
continued penury. He put out the light ; but the weather was 
hot, and he could not sleep. He got out of bed, and opened the 
casement of a grated-window, which looked into a fine garden, and, 
on opening it, he perceived and heard somebody walking and 
talking in the garden. He applied himself to listen attentively. 

»» Saint Paul. 

*** Cervantes says also in his comedy La gran Sultana Dona Catalina de Oviedo 
(Jornada 3») : 

" Hidalgo, but not rich ; a curse of the present age, in which poverty 

seems to be an inseparable adjunct to nobility." 



The promenaders raised their voices so high, that he could distinguish 
these words : " Press me not, O Emerancia, to sing, since you 
know that ever since this stranger came into the castle, and my 
eyes beheld him, I cannot sing, but weep. Besides, my lady sleeps 
not sound, and I would not have her find us here for all the treasure 
of the world. But suppose she should sleep and not awake, my 
singing will still be in vain, if this new ^neas, who is arrived in 
my territories to leave me forlorn, sleeps on, and awakes not to 
hear it." — " Do not fancy so, dear Altisidora," answered another 
voice. " Doubtless the duchess and everybody else in the house are 
asleep, excepting the master of your heart, and disturber of your 


repose. Even now I heard him open his casement, and he must 
therefore be awake. Sing, my afflicted creature, in a low and 
sweet voice, to the sound of your harp. If the duchess should 
hear us, we will plead the excessive heat of the weather." — 
" This is not the point, O Emerancia," answered Altisidora ; " I 
am afraid my song should betray my passion, and so I may be 
taken for a light longing hussey by those who are unacquainted 
with the powerful effects of love. But, come what will, better a 
blush in the face than a blot in the heart." Thereupon she began 
to touch a harp most sweetly. 

When Don Quixote heard this conversation and the music, he 
was thunderstruck ; for, at that moment, came into his mind an 
infinite number of adventures of the like kind, of casements, 
grates and gardens, serenades, courtships and faintings away, of 
which he had read in his idle books of chivalry. He soon imagined 
that some damsel of the duchess's was fallen in love with him, and 
that modesty obliged her to conceal her passion. He was a little 
afraid of being captivated, but resolved in his own thoughts not to 
yield. So, commending himself with all his soul and might to his 
mistress Dulcinea del Toboso, he determined to listen to the 
music, and, to let them know he was there, he gave a feigned 
sneeze ; which not a little rejoiced the damsels, who desired nothing 
more than that Don Quixote should hear them. The harp being 
tuned and put in order, Altisidora sang the following romance: 

" Gentle knight, La Mancha's glory, 

Fam'd in never-dying story ; 

Of a purer, finer mould. 

Than Arabia's finest gold ; 

Thou that in thy downy bed. 

Wrapt in Holland sheets are laid. 

And, with out-stretched legs, art yawning. 

Or asleep till morrow's dawning : 


Hear a woeful maid complaining. 

Who must die by thy disdaining ; 

Since thine eyes have scorched her soul, 

And have burnt it to a coal. 

If the aim of thy adventures 

Be relieving damsels centres, 

Canst thou wound a tender maid. 

And refuse thy wonted aid ? 

Tell, O tell me, I conjure thee. 

So may heavenly help secure thee, 

Wert thou born where lions roar. 

On remotest Afric's shore ? 

Wert thou some bleak mountain's care. 

And did'st suck thy nurse, a bear ? 

Dulcinea tall and slender. 

Well may boast thy heart's surrender ; 

Since those charms must stand confess'd. 

That could tame a tiger's breast ; 

And henceforth she shall be known 

From the Tagus to the Rhone. 

Could I Dulcinea's place 

Take and swap with hers my face, 

O, I'd give my Sunday's suit. 

And fringed petticoat to boot. 

Happy she that, in those arms 

Clasp'd, enjoys thy manly charms ! 

Or but, sitting by the bed. 

Chafes thy feet, or rubs thy head ! 

Ah ! I wish and ask too much, — 

Let me but thy great toe touch ! 

'Twere to humble me a blessing. 

And reward beyond expressing. 

Oh ! how I would lavish riches, 

Satin vests and damask breeches. 

And pearls so large that each would sell. 

For a perfect nonpareil ^^, 

825 Cervantes doubtless alludes to a magnificient pearl which then belonged to the 
jewels of the Spanish crown, called the orphan or the unique (the huérfana or the 
sola). This pearl was destroyed, with many other jewels at the conflagration of the 
palace of Madrid, in the year 1734. 


To adorn and dress my dear ! 

Oh ! what night-caps he should wear ! 

I'm a virgin neat and clean, 

And, in faith, not quite fifteen ; 

Tall and straight, and very sound. 

And my ringlets brush the ground. 

Though my mouth be somewhat wide. 

In my coral teeth I pride ; 

And the flatness of my nose 

Here, for finish'd beauty goes. 

How T sing I need not say. 

If perchance thou hear'st this lay. 

These, and twenty graces more-a. 

Court thee to Altisidora." 

Here ended the song of the amorous Altisidora, and began the 
alarm of the courted Don Quixote ; vi^ho, fetching a deep sigh, said 
within himself: " Why am I so unhappy an errant that no damsel 
can see but she must presently fall in love with me ? Why is 
the peerless Dulcinea so unlucky that she must not be suffered 
singly to enjoy this my incomparable constancy ? — Queens, what 
would you have with her ? Empresses, why do ye persecute her ? 
Damsels from fourteen to fifteen, why do you plague her? Leave, 
leave the poor creature ; let her triumph and glory in the lot which 
love bestowed upon her in the conquest of my heart, and the sur- 
render of my soul. Take notice, enamoured multitude, that to 
Dulcinea alone I am paste and sugar, and to all others flint. To 
voT. III. 2 G 



her I am honey, and to the rest of ye aloes. To me, Dulcinea alone 
is beautiful, discreet, lively, modest and well-born ; all the rest of 
her sex foul, foolish, fickle and base-born. To be her's, and her's 
alone, nature threw me into the world. Let Altisidora weep or 
sing, let the lady despair, on whose account I was buifetted in the 
castle of the enchanted Moor * ; boiled or roasted, Dulcineas I 
must be, clean, well-bred and chaste, in spite of all the necromantic 
powers on earth." 

Having so said, he clapped to the casement, and, in despite and 
sorrow, as if some great misfortune had befallen him, threw himself 
upon his bed, where we will leave him for the present, to attend 
the great Sancho Panza, who is desirous of beginning his famous 

* The reader need not l»e reminded of the adventure of the Carrier and Maritornes. 





THOU perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the world, eye 
of heaven, sweet motive of earthen wine-coolers ^2^, here Thymbrius, 
there Phoebus, here archer, there physician, father of poesy, inven- 
tor of music, thou who always risest, and, though thou seemest to do 
so, never settest ; to thee I speak, O sun ! by whose assistance man 
begets man ; thee I invoke to favour and enlighten the obscurity 
of my genius, that I may be able punctually to describe the govern- 
ment of the great Sancho Panza ; without thee, I find myself indo- 
lent, dispirited and confused ! 

•* In Spain they call cantimploras small glass decanters or very small earthen 
pitchers, which, to cool the water in the summer, are hung in a current of air. 
Hence the odd epithet Cervantes applies to the sun. 




Sancho, then, with all his attendants, arrived at a town containing 
about a thousand inhabitants, one of the largest and best the duke 
had. They gave him to understand that it was called the island of 
Barataria, either because Baratario was really the name of the place, 
or because he obtained the government of it at so cheap a rate ^^7, 
On his arrival near the gates of the town, which was walled about, the 
municipal officers came out to receive him. The bells rung, and, 
with all the demonstrations of a general joy and a great deal of 

pomp, the people conducted him to the great church to give thanks 
to God. Presently after, with certain ridiculous ceremonies, they 
presented him the keys of the town, and constituted him perpetual 
governor of the island of Barataria. The garb, the beard, the 
thickness and shortness of the new governor, surprised all that were 
not in the secret, and even those that were, who were not a few. 
In fine, as soon as they had brought him out of the church, they 
carried him to the tribunal of justice, and placed him in the chair. 
The duke's steward then said to him : " It is an ancient custom 
here, my lord governor, that he who comes to take possession of 

^27 Barato is the adjective opposed in Spanish to caro, dear, and is expressed by 
our word cheap. 


this famous island is obliged to answer a question put to him, which 
is to be somewhat intricate and difficult. By his answer, the people 
are enabled to feel the pulse of their new governor's understanding, 
and, accordingly, are either glad or sorry for his coming." 

While the steward was saying this, Sancho was staring at some 
capital letters written on the wall opposite to his chair, and, unable 
to read, he asked what that painting was on the wall. He was 
answered : " Sir, it is there written on what day your honour took 
possession of this island. The inscription runs thus : * This day, 
such a day of the month and year, signor Don Sancho Panza took 
possession of this island. Long may he enjoy it.' " — " Pray who 
is it they call Don Sancho Panza ? " demanded Sancho. " Your 
lordship," answered the steward ; " for no other Panza besides him 
now in the chair ever came into this island." — " Take notice, 
then, brother," returned Sancho, " that the Don does not belong 
to me, nor ever did to any of my family. I am called plain Sancho 
Panza ; my father was a Sancho, and my grandfather was a Sancho, 
and they were all Panzas, without any addition of Dons or any 
other title whatever. I fancy there are more Dons than stones in 
this island. But enough, God knows my meaning, and, perhaps, 
if my government lasts four days, I way weed out these Dons that 
overrun the country, and, by their numbers, are as troublesome as 
muskitoes and cousins ^^8^ Qn with your question, master steward, 
and I will answer the best I can, let the people be sorry or 

About this time two men came into the court, the one clad like 
a country -fellow, and the other like a tailor, with a pair of shears 
in his hand ; and the tailor said : " My lord governor, I and this 
countryman come before your worship, by reason this honest man 
came yesterday to my shop (saving your presence, I am a tailor, 
and have passed my examination, God be thanked), and, putting a 
piece of cloth into my hands, asked me : * Sir, is there enough of 
this to make me a cap ? ' I, measuring the piece, answered yes. 

•" Many plebeians in Cervantes' time already arrogated to themselves the title of 
Don, which was until then reserved exclusively for the nobility. At present, all orders 
assume this title, which is now, like the English Squire, become of no consequence. 


Now he, imagining, as I imagine, that doubtless I had a mind to 
cabbage some of the cloth, grounded his conceit upon his own 
knavery, and upon the common ill opinion had of tailors, bade 
me view it again, and see if there was not enough for two. I 
guessed his drift, and told him there was. Persisting in his 
knavish intentions, my customer went on increasing the number 
of caps, and I adding to the number of yeses, till we came to five 
caps. A little time ago he came to claim them. I offered them 
to him, but he refuses to pay me for the making, and insists I shall 
either return him his cloth, or pay him for it." — " Is all this so, 
brother?" demanded Sancho. "Yes," answered the man; "but 
pray, my lord, make him produce the five caps he has made me." — 
" With all my heart," answered the tailor ; and pulling his hand 
from under his cloak he shewed the five caps on the ends of his 
fingers and thumb, saying : " Here are the five caps this honest 
man would have me make, and on my soul and conscience, not a 
shred of the cloth is left, and I submit the work to be viewed by 
any inspectors of the trade." All present laughed at the number 
of the caps and the novelty of the suit. Sancho reflected a moment 
and then said : " I am of opinion there needs no great delay in this 
suit, and it may be decided very equitably ofí" hand. Therefore I 
pronounce that the tailor lose the making, and the countryman the 
stuff", and that the caps be confiscated to the use of the poor ; and 
there is an end of that." 

If the sentence he afterwards passed on the purse of the herds- 
man caused the admiration of all the by-standers, this excited their 
laughter ^2^. However, what the governor commanded was exe- 
cuted, and two old men next presented themselves before him. 
W One of them carried a cane ip.Áis hand for a staff*; the other, who 
had no staff", said to Sancho : ^* My lord, some time ago I lent this 
man ten crowns of gold to oblige and serve him, upon condition he 
should return them on demand. I let him alone a good while with- 
out asking him for them, because I was loth to put him to a 

5^ In the orignal it stands : If the preceding sentence. Cervantes without doubt 
changed the order of the three judgments given by Sancho ; but he forgot to correct 
the observation which followed this. 

PART ir. CHAP. XLV. 239 

greater strait to pay me than he was in when I lent them. At 
length, thinking he was negligent of the payment, I asked him more 
than once or twice for my money ; but he not only refuses payment, 
he even denies the debt, and says I never lent him any such sum, 
[y and, if I did, that he has already paid me. I having no witnesses 
of the loan, nor he of the payment, I entreat your worship will take 
his oath ; and if he will swear he has returned me the money, I 
acquit him from this minute before God and the world." — " What 
say you to this, old gentleman with the staff?" asked Sancho. The 
old fellow replied : " I confess, my lord, he did lend me the money ; 
but if your worship pleases to hold down your wand of justice, 
since he leaves it to my oath, I will swear I have really and truly 
returned it him." 

The governor held down the wand, and the old fellow gave the 
staff to his creditor to hold while he was swearing, as if it encumbered 
him. Then he laid his hand upon the cross of the wand and said : 
" It is true, indeed, this man lent me the ten crowns he demands, 
but I restored them to him into his own hands, and because, I sup- 
pose, he does not recollect it, he now solicits their second repay- 
ment." The illustrious governor, on hearing this, asked the creditor 
what he had to answer to what his antagonist had alleged. He 
replied, he did not doubt but his debtor had said the truth, for he 
took him to be an honest man, and a good Christian ; that he him- 
self must have forgotten when and where the money was returned ; 
and that from thenceforward he would never ask him for it again. The 
debtor took his staff again, and, bowing his head, went out of court. 
Sancho, seeing him depart thus without more ado, and observing 
also the patience of the creditor, inclined his head upon his breast, 
and, laying the fore-finger of his right hand upon his eye-brows and 
nose, continued a few moments lost in thought ; then lifting up his 
head, he ordered the old man with the staff, who had already gone, 
to be called back. He was brought back accordingly ; and Sancho 
seeing him : " Give me," said he, " that staff, honest friend ; I have 
occasion for it." — " With all my heart," answered the old fellow, and 
delivered it up accordingly. Sancho took it, and giving it to the 
other old man : " Go about your business, in God's name," said he; 



" you are paid." — " I, my lord ? " answered the old man ; " what 
is this cane worth ten golden crowns?" — "Yes," returned the 
governor, " or I am the greatest dunce in the world ; and now it 
shall appear whether I have a head to govern a whole kingdom." 
He then gave orders for the cane to be broken before them all; 

fv / I 


which was done, and in the hollow of it were found ten crowns of 
gold. All present were struck with admiration, and took their new 
governor for a second Solomon. They asked him how he had col- 
lected that the ten crowns were in the cane. He answered that, 
upon seeing the old man give it his adversary while he was taking 
the oath, and swearing that he had really and truly restored them 
into his own hands, then, when he had done, ask for it again, it 
came into his imagination that the money in dispute must be in the 
hollow of the cane. " Whence it may be gathered," added he, 
" that God Almighty often directs the judgments of those who 
govern, though otherwise mere blockheads. Besides, I have heard 
the priest of my village ^^o tell a like case, and were it not that I am 
so unlucky as to forget all I have a mind to remember, my memory 
was so good, there is not a better in the whole island." At length, 
both the old men marched off, the one ashamed and the other satis- 
fied, and all the by-standers were astonished. The secretary, who 
made minutes of the words, actions and behaviour of Sancho Panza, 
could not determine with himself whether he should set him down 
for a wise man or a fool. 

This cause was no sooner ended, than there came into court a 
woman, keeping fast hold of a man, clad like a rich herdsman. She 
came, crying aloud: "Justice, my lord governor, justice! If I 
cannot find it on earth, I will seek it in heaven ! Lord governor of 
my soul, this wicked man surprised me in the middle of a field, and 
made use of my person as if it had been a dish-clout. Woe is me ! 
he has robbed me of what I have kept above these three-and-twenty 
years, defending it against Moors and Christians, natives and 
foreigners. Have I been as hard as a cork tree, and preserved my- 
self as entire as a salamander in the fire, or as wool among briars, 
that this honest man should come with his clean hands to handle 
me." — " That remains to be inquired into," said Sancho ; "let us 
now proceed to see whether this gallant's hands are clean or not ; " 
and, turning to the man, he asked him what he had to say in answer 

** It is in fact taken from the Lomhardica Historia of Fra Giacobo di Vorágine, in 
the Life of Saint Nichola» qf Bari (chap. iii.). 
VOL. III. 2 H 



to this woman's complaint. The man, all in confusion, replied : 
" Sir, I am a poor herdsman, and deal in swine ; and this morning 
I went out of this town, after having sold, under correction be 
it spoken, four hogs, and, what between dues and exactions, the 
officers took from me little less than they were worth. As I was 
returning home, by the way I lighted upon this good dame, and 
the devil, the author of all mischief, yoked us together. I paid her 
handsomely ; but she, not contented, laid hold of me, and has never 

let me go till she has dragged me to this place. She says I forced 
her ; but, by the oath I have taken, or am to take, she lies. This 



is the whole truth." Then the governor asked him if he had any 
silver money about him. The man ansv^ered that he had about 
twenty ducats in a leathern purse in his bosom. Sancho ordered 

him to produce it, and deliver it just as it was to the plaintiff. He 
did so, trembling ; the woman took the purse, and making a thou- 
sand courtsies, and praying to God for the life and health of the lord 
governor, who took such care of poor orphans and maidens, out of 
the court she went, holding the purse with both hands, taking care 
first to see if the money that was in it was silver. 

She had no sooner left the room than Sancho said to the herds- 
man, who was in tears, and whose eyes and heart were gone after 
his purse : " Honest man, follow that woman, and take away the 
purse from her, whether she will or not, and come back hither with 
it." This was not said to one deaf or stupid, for the man instantly 
flew after her Hke lightning, and went about what he was bidden. 

All present were in great suspense, expecting the issue of this 
suit. In a few minutes came in the man and the woman, clinging 
together closer than the first time, she with her petticoat tucked up 


and the purse lapped up in it, and the man struggling to take it 
from her, but in vain, she defended it so stoutly. " Justice from 
God and the world ! " cried she at the top of her lungs ; " See, my 
lord governor, the impudence and want of fear of this varlet, who, 
in the midst of the town and of the street, would take from me the 
purse your worship commanded to be given to me." — " And has he 
got it ? " demanded the governor. " Got it ! " answered the woman; 
" I would sooner let him take away my life than my purse. A pretty 
baby I should be, indeed ! Other-guise cats must claw my beard, 
and not such pitiful, sneaking tools as this. Pincers and hammers, 
crows and chisels, shall not get it out of my clutches, nor even the 
paws of a lion. My soul and body shall sooner part." — "She is in 
the right," added the man ; " I yield myself worsted and spent, and 
confess I have not strength enough to take it from her." That said, 
he left her. Then said the governor to the woman : " Give me that 
purse, chaste and valiant heroine." She presently delivered it, and 
the governor returned it to the man, and said to the violent but not 
violated damsel : " Sister of mine, had you shewn the same, or but 
half as much, courage and resolution in defending your chastity, as 
you have done in defending your purse, the strength of Hercules 
could not have forced you. Begone, in God's name, and in an ill 
hour, and be not found in all this island, nor in six leagues round 
about it, upon pain of two hundred stripes. Begone, instantly, I 
say, thou prating, shameless, cheating hussey ! " The woman was 
confounded and went away, drooping her head and discontented ; 
and the governor said to the man : " Honest man, go home, in the 
name of God, with your money, and henceforward, unless you have 
a mind to lose it, take care not to yoke with any body." 

The countryman gave him thanks as clownishly as he could and 
went his way ^^^ The by-standers were in fresh admiration at the 
decisions and sentences of their new governor, all which, being 

^^^ This story, real or imaginary, was already included in the book of Francisco 
de Osuna, entituled Norte de los Estados, which was printed in 1550. But 
Cervantes, who may have learned it from this work or from tradition, relates it in 
quite a diflferent manner. 



noted down by his historiographer, were immediately transmitted to 
the duke, who waited for them with great impatience. But here 
let us leave honest Sancho, for his master, greatly disturbed at 
Altisidora's music, calls in haste for us. 





ow let US return to the 
great Don Quixote, whom 
the reader will remember 
we left wrapped up in the 
reflections occasioned by 
the music of the ena- 
moured damsel, Altisidora. 
He carried them with him 
to bed, and, as if they had 
been fleas, they would not 
sufler him to sleep or take 
the least rest, to say no- 
thing of the disaster of 
the stocking. But as 
time is so swift that no 
bar can stop him, he came 
riding upon the hours, 
and that of the morning 
posted on apace. Directly 
Don Quixote saw it was 
'«-' ":~~/j^~ light, forsaking his downy 

pillow, in haste he put on his shamois doublet and his travelling 

PART II. — CHAP. XLVr. 24f7 

boots, to conceal the misfortune of his stocking. He threw over 
his shoulders his scarlet mantle, and clapped on his head a green 
velvet montera, trimmed with silver lace ; he then hung his trusty- 
trenchant blade in his shoulder belt ; he attached to his wrist a large 
chaplet which he always carried about him ; and, thus magnificently 
apparelled, he walked, with great state and solemnity, towards the 
anti-chamber where the duke and duchess, ready dressed, expected 

In a gallery through which he had to pass, Altisidora and the 
other damsel, her friend, stood purposely posted waiting for him. 
As soon as Altisidora espied Don Quixote, she pretended to faint 
away, and her companion caught her in her arms and in a great 
hurry was unlacing her stays. Don Quixote, seeing it, drew near 
them and said: " I very well know whence these accidents proceed." 
— " I know not from whence," interrupted the friend, " for Altisidora 
is the healthiest damsel in all this family, and I have never heard 
so much as an alas from her since I have known her. Ill betide all 
the knights-errant in the world, if they are all ungrateful ! Leave 
this place, signor Don Quixote ; the poor girl will not come to her- 
self so long as your worship stays here." Don Quixote answered : 
" Be pleased, madam, to give order that a lute be left in my cham- 
ber to-night, and I wiU comfort this poor damsel the best I am 
able. In the beginning of love, to be early imdeceived is the 
readiest cure." So saying, away he went, to avoid the observation 
of those who might see him there. 

He was hardly gone, when Altisidora, recovering from her 
swoon, said to her companion : "By all means let him have the 
lute. Doubtless Don Quixote purposes to give us some music, and 
it cannot be bad, if it be the knight's own composition." The two 
damsels then proceeded to give the duchess an account of what had 
passed, and of Don Quixote's desiring a lute ; and her grace, ex- 
ceedingly rejoiced thereat, concerted with the duke and her 
damsels how they might play him some trick, which would be more 
merry than mischievous. Pleased with their contrivance, they 
waited for night, and it came on as fast as the day had done, which 
the duke and duchess spent in relishing conversation with Don 



Quixote. The same day, the duchess despatched one of her pages, 
the same who, in the wood, had personated the figure of the 
enchanted Dulcinea, on horseback to Teresa Panza, with her 
husband Sancho Panza's letter, and a bundle he had left to be sent, 
charging him to bring back an exact account of all that should 

h,:: r 




This being done, and eleven o'clock at night being come, Don 
Quixote found a mandoline in his chamber. He touched it, opened 
his casement, and perceived that there were people walking in the 
garden. Having again run over the strings of the instrument, and 
tuned it as well as he could, he hemmed to clear his throat, and 



then, with a hoarse, though not unmusical voice, he sung the 
following romance, which he himself had composed that day : 

*' Love, with Idleness its friend. 
O'er a maiden gains its end ; 
But let business and employment 
Fill up ev'ry careful moment. 
2 I 


These an antidote will prove 
To the baneful arts of love. 
Maidens that aspire to marry. 
In their looks reserve should carry ; 
Modesty their price should raise. 
And be the herald of their praise. 
Knights, whom toils of arms employ. 
With the free may laugh and toy ; 
But the modest only choose 
When they tie the nuptial noose. 
Love, that rises with the sun. 
With his setting rays is gone ; 
Love that, guest-like, visits hearts. 
When the banquet's o'er departs ; 
And the love that comes to-day. 
And to-morrow wings its way. 
Leaves no traces on the soul. 
Its affections to control. 
Where a sovereign beauty reigns. 
Fruitless are a rival's pains. 
O'er a finish'd picture who 
E'er a second picture drew } 
Dulcinea, queen of beauty. 
Rules my heart, and claims its duty. 
Nothing there can take her place. 
Nought her image can efface. 
Whether fortune smile or frown. 
Constancy's the lover's crown ; 
And, its force divine to prove. 
Miracles performs in love. 

Thus far Don Quixote had proceeded in his song, to which the 
duke and duchess, Altisidora and ahnost all the folks of the castle 
stood listening, when, on a sudden, from an open gallery directly 
over Don Quixote's window, a rope was let down, to which above 
a hundred small bells were fastened, and immediately afterwards 
was emptied a great sackful of cats, which had smaller bells tied to 
their tails. The jangling noise of the bells and the mewing of the 
cats was so great, that the duke and duchess, though the inventors 
of the jest, were frightened thereat, and Don Quixote himself was 


in a panic. Fortune so ordered it that two or three of the cats got 

in at the casement of his chamber; and scouring about from side 
to side, one would have thought a legion of devils had broken 
into it to hold their nocturnal gambols. They extinguished the 



lights that were burning in the chamber in their endeavours to make 
their escape ; and the cord to which the bells were fastened being let 
down and pulled up incessantly, most of the folks of the castle who 
were not in the secret were struck with astonishment and terror. 
Don Quixote got upon his feet, and, laying hold of his sword, 
began to make thrusts at the casement, crying in a voice of 
thunder : " Avaunt, ye malicious enchanters I avaunt, ye rabble 
of wizards ! I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, against whom your 
wicked arts are of no force nor effect ! " Turning to the cats, which 
were running about the room, he made several cuts at them. They 
took to the casement and made their escape, all but one, which 
finding itself hard pressed by Don Quixote's sword-thrusts, flew at 
his face, and seized him by the nose with its claws and teeth. 
Pain made him cry aloud. The duke and duchess, hearing this and 
guessing the cause, ran in all haste up to his chamber, and, 
opening the door with a master-key, found the poor gentleman 
striving with all his might to disengage the cat from his face. 

il 1 




Ill, // 


Lights were brought in, which rendered the unequal combat 
apparent. The duke ran to part the fray, and Don Quixote cried 
aloud ; " Let no one take him off; leave me to battle it with this 
demon, this wizard, this enchanter. I wiU make him know, betwixt 
him and me, who Don Quixote de la Mancha is." But the cat, 
not regarding these menaces, growled on and kept her hold. At 
length the duke forced open her claws, and threw her out at the 
window. Don Quixote remained with his face like a sieve, and 
his nose not over whole, though greatly dissatisfied that they 
would not let him finish the combat he had so toughly maintained 
against that caitiff enchanter. 

They fetched some oil of aparicio ^32^ and Altisidora herself, with 
her lily-white hands, bound up his wounds. While she was so 
employed, she said to him in a low voice : " All these misadventures 
befall you, hard-hearted knight, for the sin of your stubborn 
disdain. May Heaven grant that Sancho, your squire, may forget 
to whip himself, that this same beloved Dulcinea of yours may 
never be released from her enchantment, nor you ever approach her 
nuptial bed, at least while I live, I who adore you." Don Quixote 
returned no other answer to these passionate expressions than a 
profound sigh, then he stretched himself at full length upon his bed, 
humbly thanking the duke and duchess for their assistance, not as 
being afraid of that feline, bell-ringing, necromantic crew, but 
because he was sensible of their good intention by their readiness 
to succour him. The duke and duchess left him to his rest and 
went away, not a little concerned at the ill success of their joke, 
which they did not think would have proved so heavy and so hard 
upon Don Quixote. Effectively, this adventure cost the knight five 
days' confinement to his bed, where another adventure befel him, more 

«2 This was the name of a balsam composed of flowers of St. John's wort. From 
the name of this plant {hipérico in Spanish) was formed, by corruption the name 
oil of aparicio. 



relishing than the former. This, liowever, his historian will not 
relate at present, in order that he may attend Sancho Panza, who 
went on very busily and very pleasantly with his government. 

PART ir. CHAP. XLVir. 




USING sight for awhile 
of Don Quixote, the 
history relates that they 
conducted Sancho Panza 
from the coui't of judi- 
cature to a sumptuous 
palace,where, in a great 
hall, was spread an ele- 
gant, nay regal, table. 
As soon as Sancho en- 
tered the hall, the soft 
music struck up, and in 
came four pages with 
water to wash his hands, which ceremony Sancho allowed to be per- 
formed with great gravity. The music ceased, and Sancho sat down at 
the upper end of the table, for there was but that one chair, and only 
one napkin or plate. A personage, who proved to be a physician, 
placed himself, standing, on one side of him, with a whalebone rod 
in his hand. They removed a very fine white cloth which covered 
several fruits and a great variety of eatables with which the table 
was spread. One who looked like an ecclesiastic, said grace, and 



a page put a laced bib under Sancho's chin. Another page, who played 
the sewer's part, set a plate of fruit before him. But scarcely had 
he eaten a bit, when the man with the wand touching the dish 
with the tip of his whalebone staif, the waiters snatched it away 
from before him with great haste. The sewer immediately set 
another dish of meat in its place, which Sancho prepared to try ; 
but before he could reach or taste it, the wand had been already at 
it, and a page whipped that away also with as much speed as he had 
done the fruit. Sancho, seeing it, was surprised, and looking about 

him, asked if this repast was to be eaten like a shew of sleight of 
hand. The man with the wand replied : " My lord governor, here 
must be no other kind of eating but such as is usual and customary 
in other islands where there are governors. I, sir, am a physician, 
and have an appointed salary in this island for serving the governors 
of it in that capacity. I consult their healths much more than my 


own, studying night and day, and sounding the governor's con- 
stitution, the better to know how to cure him when he is sick. 
My principal business is to attend at his meals, to let him eat of 
what I think is most proper for him, and to remove from him 
whatever I imagine will do him harm, or be hurtful to his 
stomach ^33^ j therefore ordered the dish of fruit to be taken 
away, as being too moist ; and that other dish of meat I also ordered 
away, as being too hot, and having in it too much spice, which 
increases thirst. For, he who drinks much, destroys and consumes'^ 
the radical moisture, in which life consists." — " Well then," said 
Sancho, " yon plate of roasted partridges, which seem to me to be 
very well seasoned, will they do me any harm ? " — " My lord 
governor," answered the doctor, "shall not eat a bit of them while 
I have life."— "Pray why not?" asked Sancho. "Why?" 
answered the doctor, " because our master Hippocrates, the north- 
star and luminary of medicine, says, in one of his aphorisms : 
Omnis saturatio mala, perdicis autem pessima ^^*, that is to say : 
* All repletion is bad ; but that of partridges the worst of all.' " — 
" If it be so," said Sancho, " pray see, signor doctor, of all the 
dishes upon this table, which will do me most good, and which 
least harm, and let me eat of it, without conjuring it away with 
your wand, for, by the Hfe of the governor, and as God shall give 
me leave to use it, I am dying with hunger. To deny me my 
victuals, though it be against the grain of signor doctor, and though 
he should say as much more against it, is rather the way to shorten 
my life than to lengthen it." — " Your worship is in the right, my 
lord governor," answered the physician. "Therefore I am of 
opinion, you should not eat of yon fricasseed rabbits because they 
are a sharp-haired ^^^ food. Of that veal, perhaps, you might pick 
a bit, were it not dobed ; but as it is, not a morsel." 

^33 We read in the book of Etiquettes, composed by Olivier de la Marche for 
Duke Charles the Bold of Burgundy, which was adopted by the kings of Spain, of 
the house of Austria, for the regulation of their palaces : " The Duke has six doctors 
of medicine who visit the prince and consult on the state of his health : when the 
duke is at table, they station themselves behind him, to see what he eats and what 
dishes are helped to his grace, and to tell him what, in their opinion, will do him 
most good." 

'^ The aphorism is : Omnis saturatio mala, panis autem pessima. 

•** Peliagudo means also, figuratively, perplexed, thorny, difficult. 



Then said Sancho : " That great dish, smoking yonder, I take to 
be an olla podrida ^36 j and amidst the diversity of things contained 
in an olla podrida, surely I may light upon something both 
wholesome and palatable." — " Absit!'* cried the doctor; "far be 
such a thought from us. Tliere is not worse nutriment in the 
world than an olla podrida. Leave such dishes to prebends and 
rectors of colleges, or for country-weddings ; but let the tables of 
governors be free from them, where nothing but neatness and 
delicacy ought to preside ; and the reason is clear : it is because 
simple medicines are more esteemed than compound, by all persons, 
and in all places, for in simples there can be no mistake, but in 
compounds there may, by altering the quantities of the ingredients. 
Therefore what I would advise at present for signor governor's 
eating, to corroborate and preserve his health, is about an hundred 
of rolled-up wafers, and some thin slices of marmalade, that may 
sit easy upoh the stomach, and help digestion." 

Sancho, hearing this, threw himself backward in his chair, and, 
surveying the doctor from head to foot, asked him in a grave voice 
his name, and where he had studied. "My lord governor," 
answered the doctor, "I am called doctor Pedro Recio de 
Agüero ^^^ ; I am a native of a place called Tirteafuera ^^^, lying 
between Caraquel and Almodovar del Campo, on the right hand, 
and have taken my doctor's degree in the university of Osuna." 
— " Why then," cried Sancho, " signor doctor Pedro Recio of ill- 
omen, native of Tirteafuera, lying on the right hand, as we go 
from Caraquel to Almodovar del Campo, graduate in Osuna, get 
out of my sight this instant, or, by the sun, I will take a cudgel 
and, beginning with you, will so lay about me that there shall not 

^36 The oZ/aj50(?r¿£?fl (medley) is a mixture of several kinds of meat and seasoning: 
the pot pourri of the French. 

^'^7 Recio means stiif, immoveable, and agüero, augury, omen. 
^^ Tirteafuera, or better tirateafuera means begone hence. It is used in this sense 
by Simon Abril in the translation of Ttie Eunuch, of Terence, in which the servant- 
maid Pythias says to the footman Cherea : 

Neque pol servandura tibi 
Quidquam dare ausim, neque te servare. Apage te. 

(Act v., Scene ii.) 
En buena fe que ni yo osarla 
Darte a gtiardar nada, ni menos guardarte 
Yo. Tirateafuera. 



be left one physician in the whole island, at least of those I find to 
be ignorant ; as for those that are learned, prudent and discreet, I 
shall respect and honour them as divine persons. But, I repeat, let 
Pedro Recio quit my presence ; if not, I shall take this chair I sit 
upon, and break it over his head. Let them call me to account 
for it or not as they choose in my residence ^^^ ; I will justify 
myself by saying I did God service in killing a bad physician, the 
hangman of the public. Now give me to eat, or take back your 
government ; for an office that will not find a man in victuals is not 
worth two beans." 

The doctor was frightened at seeing the governor so choleric, and 
would have taken himself out of the hall, had not the sound of a 
postilion's horn been heard that instant in the street. The sewer 
ran to the window, and looking out, came back and said : "A 
courier is arrived from my lord duke, and must certainly have 

At the e 

xpiration of their charges, the governors, like certain others employed 




brought some despatches of importance." The courier entered out 
of breath and covered with perspiration. He pulled a packet out 
of his bosom and delivered it into the governor's hands, and Sancho 
gave it to the steward, bidding him read the superscription which 
proved to be thus conceived : " To Don Sancho Panza, governor of 
the island of Barataría, to be delivered into his own hands, or into 
his secretary's'' — " And which is my secretary here ? " demanded 
Sancho. One of those present answered : " I am he, sir, for I can 
read and write, and am a Biscayan." — " With that addition," cried 
Sancho, "you may very well be secretary to the emperor 
himself 5*0. Open the packet, and see what it contains." 

The new-born secretary obeyed, and having cast his eye over the 
contents, he said it was a business which required privacy. Sancho 
commanded the hall to be cleared, and that none should stay but 
the steward and the sewer. All the rest, with the physician, 
having withdrawn, the secretary read the missive, which ran as 
follows ; 

" It is come to my knowledge that certain enemies of mine, and 
of the island you govern, intend one of these nights to assault it 
furiously. You must be watchful and diligent, that they may not 
attack you unprepared. I am informed also, by trusty spies, that 
four persons in disguise have entered the island to take away your 
life, because they are in fear of your abihties. Have your eyes 
about you, and be careful who is admitted to speak to you, and be 
sure eat nothing sent you as a present. I will take care to send 
you assistance, if you are in any want of it; and, upon the whole, 
I do not doubt but you will act as is expected from your judgment. 
From this place, the 16th of August at four in the morning. 

Your friend the Duke." 

Sancho was astonished, and the rest seemed to be so too. 

Turning to the steward, he said : " The first thing to be done is to 

clap doctor Recio into prison ; for if any body has a design to kill 

by the state, were compelled to reside for a fixed period in the country over which they 
had presided. During this time, they were exposed to the reclamations of their 
subordinates, become their equals. The Spaniards imitated this wise custom from 
the Arabs 

5^ The Biscayans, in Cervantes' time had been, almost from time immemorial, in 
possession of the offices of secretaries of state and to the cabinet. 


me, it is he, and that by a lingering and the worst of deaths — 
hunger." — "It is my opinion," said the steward, "your honour 
would do well to eat nothing of all this meat here upon the table ; 
for most of these delicacies were presented by some nuns ; and it is 
a saying that the devil lurks behind the cross." — "I grant it," 
retorted Sancho. " For the present give me only a piece of bread, 
and four or five pounds of grapes ; no poison can be conveyed in 
them, and I cannot Hve without eating. If we must hold ourselves 
in readiness for these wars that threaten us, it will be necessary we 
should be well victualled, for the guts uphold the heart, and not 
the heart the guts. You, secretary, answer my lord duke, and tell 
him, his commands shall be punctually obeyed, just as he gives 
them; and present my humble service to my lady duchess, and beg 
her not to forget sending my letter and the bundle by a special 
messenger to my wife Teresa Panza, which I shall look upon as a 
particular favour, and will be her humble servant to the utmost of 
my power. By the way, you may put in a service to my master 
Don Quixote de la Mancha, that he may see I am grateful bread, 
as we say. And like a good secretary and a staunch Biscayan, you 
may add what you please, or what will turn to best account. Now 
take away the cloth, and give me something to eat. Afterwards I 
will deal well enough with all the spies, murderers and enchanters 
that shall attack me or my island." 

At this moment a page came in, and said : " Here is a countryman 
about bnsiness, who would speak with your lordship concerning an 
afíair which he says is of great importance." — "A strange case 
this," cried Sancho, " that these men of business should be so silly 
as not to see that such hours as these are not proper for business ! 
What! peradventure we who govern, we judges, are not made of 
flesh and bones, like other men! Are we made of marble stone, 
that we must not refresh, at times, when necessity requires it? 
Before God and upon my conscience, if my government lasts, as I 
have a glimmering it will not, I shall hamper more than one of 
these men of business. Bid this honest man come in for this once, 
but first see that he be not one of the spies, or one of my 
murderers." — " No, my lord," answered the page, " for he looks 


like a pitcher-souled fellow ; and I know little, or he is as harmless 
as a piece of bread." — "You need not fear," added the steward, 
" while we are present." — " Is it not possible, sewer," asked 
Sancho, " now that the doctor Pedro Recio is not here, for me to 
eat something of substance and weight, though it were but a 
luncheon of bread and an onion." — " To-night at supper," 
answered the sewer, "amends shall be made for the defects of 
dinner, and your lordship shall have no cause to complain." — 
" Heaven grant it ! " answered Sancho. 

The countryman now entered ; he was a man of goodly presence. 

a man whom one might swear at first sight to be an honest, good 
soul. The first thing he said was. " Which is the lord governor 
here?" — " Who," answered the secretary, "but he who is seated 
in the chair ?" — " I humble myself in the presence," said the 
countryman, kneeling down, and begging his hand to kiss. Sancho 
refused it, and commanded him to rise and tell his business. 
The countryman obeyed, and said : "My lord, I am a countryman, 
a native of Miguel Turra, two leagues from Ciudad Real" — " What 
another Tirteafuera ? " cried Sancho. " Say on, brother, for let me 


tell you, I know Miguel Turra very well ; it is not so far from our 
town." — " The business is this, sir," proceeded the peasant. " By 
the mercy of God I was married in peace, and in the face of the 
holy catholic Roman church; I have two sons, scholars: the 
younger studies for bachelor, and the elder for licentiate. I am a 
widower, for my wife died, or rather a wicked physician killed 
her, by giving her cathartic medicines when she was with child ; 
and, if it had been God's will the child had been born and had 
proved a son, I would have put him to study for doctor, that he 
might not envy his two brothers, the bachelor and licentiate." — 
"So that," interrupted Sancho, "if your wife had not died, or had 
not been killed, you had not now been a widower !" — " No, certainly, 
my lord," answered the peasant. "We are much the nearer," replied 
Sancho; "Go on, brother; for this is an hour rather for bed than 
business." — " I say then," continued the countryman, " that this son, 
who is to be the bachelor, fell in love, in the same village, with a 
damsel called Clara Perlerina, daughter of Andres Perlerino, a very 
rich farmer. This name of Perlerino came not to them by lineal, 
or any other descent, but because all of that race are subject to the 
palsy 5*^ ; and, to mend the name, they call them Perlerinos. To 
say the truth, however, the damsel is like an oriental pearl, and, 
looked at on the right side, seems a very flower of the field-; on the 
left, she is not quite so fair, for on that side she wants an eye, 
which she lost by the small pox. And, though the pits in her face 
are many and deep, her admirers say they are not pits, but sepulchres, 
wherein the hearts of her lovers are buried. She is so cleanly that, 
to prevent defiling her face, she carries her nose so crooked up, that 
it seems to be flying from her mouth. For all that, she looks 
extremly well, for she has a large mouth, so that, did she not lack 
half a score or a dozen teeth and grinders, she might pass, and 
that passingly well, among ladies of the best fashion. I say nothing 
of her lips ; for they are so thin and slender that, were it the fashion 
to reel lips as they do yarn, one might make a skein of them. But, 
being of a different colour from what is usually found in lips, they 

"' Perlático» (paralytics) in Spanish. 



have a marvellous appearance, for they are marbled with blue, green 
and voilet. And pray, my lord governor, pardon me for painting 
so minutely the parts of her who after all is to be my daughter ; 
I love her mightily," — "Paint what you will," answered Sancho, 
"for I am mightily diverted with the picture; and, had I but 
dined, I would not desire a better dessert than your portrait." — 
" It shall be always at your service," answered the peasant. " The 
time may come when we may be acquainted, though we are not 
so now. I assure you, my lord, if I could but paint her gentility 
and the tallness of her person, you would admire. But that cannot 
be, because she is crooked, and crumpled up together, and her knees 
touch her mouth ; for all that, you may see plainly that, could she 
but stand upright, she would touch the ceiling with her head. 
And she would ere now have given her hand to my bachelor to be 
hisv^ife, but that she cannot stretch it out, it is so shrunken; never- 
theless, her long guttered nails shew the goodness of its make." — 
'* So far so good," said Sancho; " and now, brother, make account 
that you have painted her from head to foot. What is it you would be 
at ? Come to the point without so many windings and turnings, 
so many fetches and digressions." — "What I desire, my lord," 
answered the countryman, "is that your lordship would do me 
the favour to give me a letter of recommendation to her father, 
begging his consent to the match, since we are pretty equal in our 
fortunes and natural endowments. To say the truth, my lord 
governor, my son is possessed, and there is scarce a day in which 
the evil spirits do not torment him three or four times ; and, by 
having fallen once into the fire, his face is as shrivelled as a piece 
of scorched parchment, and his eyes are somewhat bleared and 
running. But he is as good tempered as an angel; and, did 
he not buffet and give himself frequent cuffs, he would be a very 
saint." — " Would you have any thing else, honest friend ? " demanded 
Sancho. " One thing more I would ask," returned the peasant, "but 
that I dare not. Yet out it shall ; for, in short, it shall not rot in my 
breast, come of it what will. I say then, my lord, I should be glad 
if your worship would give me three or six hundred ducats towards 
the fortune of my bachelor, I mean, towards the furnishing his 



house ; for, in short, they are to live by themselves, without being 
subject to the impertinencies of their fathers-in-law." — "Well," said 
Sancho, **see if you would have anything else, and be not ashamed 
to tell it." — " No, for certain," answered the peasant. 

Scarcely had he said this, when the governor, getting up, and lay- 
ing hold of the chair he sat on, said : " I vow to God, Don lubberly, 
saucy bumpkin, if you do not get you gone, and instantly avoid my 



presence, with this chair will I crack your skull. Ragamuffin, 
rascal, painter for the devil himself! at this time of day to come and 
ask me for six hundred ducats ! Where should I have them, clod ! 
and, if I had them, why should I give them to thee, jibing fool ? 
What care I for Miguel Turra, or for the whole race of the Perlerinos ? 
Begone, I say, or by the life of my lord duke, I will be as good as 
my word. You are no native of Miguel Turra, but some scoffer 
sent from hell to tempt me. Impudent scoundrel ! I have not yet 
had the government a day and a half, and you would have me give 
six hundred ducats ! " The sewer made signs to the countryman to 
go out of the hall, which he did, hanging down his head, and 
seemingly afraid lest the governor should execute his threat, for the 
knave very well knew how to play his part. 

But let us leave Sancho in his passion, and peace be with him 
and company, and turn to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face 
bound up and under cure of his feline wounds, of which he was 
not quite healed in eight days ; in one of which there befel him 
what Cid Hamet promises to relate with that punctuality and truth 
with which he communicates every thing belonging to the history, 
however infinitely minute. 





duchess's duenna, together WITH OTHER ACCIDENTS WORTHY 

URN we now to the discontented, 
melancholy and sore wounded Don 
Quixote, whom we left with his face 
bound up and marked, not by the 
hand of God, but by the claws of a 
cat: misfortunes incident to knight- 
errantry. For six whole days he 
appeared not in public, and on one 
night of this forced retirement, as he 
was lying awake and restless, medi- 
tating on his misfortunes and the per- 
secution he suffered from Altisidora, 
he perceived somebody opening his chamber door with a key, and 
presently imagined that the enamoured damsel was coming to assault 
his chastity, and expose him to the temptation of failing in the 
fidelity he owed to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso. " No," cried he 
believing what he fancied, and so loud as to be overheard, "not the 
greatest beauty upon earth shall prevail on me to cease adoring her, 
who is engraven and imprinted in the bottom of my heart and in 
the inmost recesses of my entrails. Whether, my dearest lady, 
you be now transformed into a garlic-eating country-wench, or 
into a nymph of the golden Tagus weaving tissue-webs with gold 
and silken twist; whether you are in the power of Merlin or 
Montesinos, wherever you are, mine you are, and wherever I am, 
yours 1 have been, and yours I will remain." 



As Don Quixote finished these words he saw the door of his 
chamber open. Up he stood upon the bed, wrapped from top to toe 
in a quilt of yellow satin, a woollen cap on his head, and his face and 
mustachios bound up ; his face, because of its scratches, and his 
mustachios to keep them from flagging and falling down. In this 

PART 11- — CHAP. XLVIII. 269 

guise he appeared the most extraordinary phantom imaginable. 
He nailed his eyes to the door, and when he expected to see the 
poor captivated and sorrowful Altisidora enter, he perceived 
approaching a most reverend duenna, in a long white veil that 
covered her from head to foot. She carried between the fingers of 
her left hand half a lighted candle, and held her right hand over it 
to shade her face and keep the glare from her eyes, which were 
hidden behind a huge pair of spectacles. She advanced very 
slowly, and trod very softly. Don Quixote observed her from his 
watch-tower ^42^ and perceiving her figure and noting her silence, 
he fancied a wdtch or sorceress was come in that disguise to play 
him some evil turn, and began to cross himself apace. 

The apparition kept moving forwards. When it came to the 
middle of the room, it lifted up its eyes, and saw in what a hurry 
Don Quixote was crossing himself. If he was afraid at seeing 
such a figure, she was no less dismayed at sight of his ; for seeing 
him so lank and yellow, with the quilt and the bandages which 
disfigured him, uttering a loud cry : " Jesus ! " cried she, " what do 
I see ? " The candle fell from her hand in her terror, and, finding 
herself in the dark, she turned about to begone, and, treading in 
her agitation on her skirts, she tumbled and fell on the floor. 

Don Quixote, trembling with aflright, began to say : "I conjure 
thee, phantom or whatever thou art, tell me who thou art, and what 
thou wouldest have with me. If thou art a soul in torment, 
hesitate not to tell me ; I will do all I can for thee, for I am a 
Catholic Christian, and love to do good to all the world ; for that 
purpose I took upon me the profession of knight-errantry, an 
employment which extends to the doing good even to souls in 
purgatory." The bruised duenna, hearing herself thus exorcised, 
guessed at Don Quixote's fear by her own, and, in a low and 
doleful voice, answered : ** Signor Don Quixote, if, peradventure, 
your worship be indeed Don Quixote, I am no phantom, nor 

*•' In the original, from the height of his tower of atalaya. This is the name {Al- 
thalaya'h) by which the Arabs culled certain little towers situated on eminences, 
whence their watchmen f^ave warning of the movements of the enemy, by means of 
signuh repeated from post to post. 


apparition, nor soul in purgatory, as your worship seems to 
think, but simply Donna Rodriguez, duenna of honour to my lady 
duchess, and I am come to your worship with one of those cases of 
necessity your worship is wont to remedy." — " Tell me then, 
signora Donna Rodriguez," interrupted Don Quixote, " does your 
ladyship, peradventure, come in quahty of procuress ? If you do, I 
give you to understand I am fit for nobody's turn, thanks to the 
peerless beauty of my mistress, Dulcinea del Toboso. In short, 
signora Donna Rodriguez, on condition you wave all amorous 
messages, you may go and light your candle, and return hither ; 
and we will discourse of whatever you please to command, 
excepting, as I told you, all kinds of amorous excitements." — " I 
bring messages, good sir!" answered the duenna; "your worship 
mistakes me very much. I am not yet so advanced in years to be 
forced to betake myself to so low an employment ; for, God be 
praised, my soul is still in my body, and all my teeth in my head, 
excepting a few usurped from me by catarrhs, so common in this 
country of Aragón. But stay a little, sir, till I go and light my 
candle, and I wdll return instantly, to relate my woes to your 
worship, as to the redresser of all the grievances in the world." 

Without staying for an answer, she went out of the room, 
leaving Don Quixote in expectation of her return. But a thousand 
thoughts crowded into his mind touching this new adventure. 
He became of opinion he had done ill, and judged worse, to expose 
himself to the hazard of breaking his plighted troth to his lady ; 
and he said to himself: "Who knows but the devil, who is 
subtle and designing, means to deceive me now with a duenna, 
though he has not been able to effect it with empresses, queens, 
duchesses, marchionesses or countesses? I have often heard 
ingenious people say that the devil, if he can, will sooner tempt a 
man with a flat nose than a hawk-nosed woman. Who can tell 
but this solitude, this opportunity, this silence, may awaken my 
slumbering desires, and, in my declining years, make me fall where 
I never yet stumbled? In such cases, it is better to fly than 

stand the battle But, sure I am not in my right senses, to 

talk so idly. No ; it is impossible that a white veiled, lank and 



spectacled duenna should move or excite a wanton thought in the 
lewdest breast in the world. Is there a duenna upon earth that 
has tolerable flesh and blood ? is there a duenna upon the globe, 
that is not impertinent, wrinkled and squeamish ? Avaunt then, ye 
rabble of duennas, useless to any human pleasure ! O, how rightly 
did the lady act, of whom it is said, that she had at the foot of her 

state sofa, a couple of statues of duennas, with their spectacles and 


b obbin-cushions, as if they were at work ! And these statues served 
every whit as well for the dignity of her state-room as real duennas ! " 
So saying, he jumped off the bed, designing to lock his door and 
not let signora Rodriguez enter. But, before he could shut it, signora 
Rodriguez returned, with a lighted taper of white wax. When 
she saw Don Quixote so much nearer, wrapped up in his quilt, 
with his bandages, and night-cap, she was again frightened, and, 
retreating two or three steps : " Sir knight," said she, " am I safe ? 
for I take it to be no very good sign of modesty that your worship 
is got out of bed.'' — " I should rather ask you that question, 
madam," answered Don Quixote. " And therefore I do ask if my 
person is safe from violence?" — "By whom and from whom, sir 
knight, do you expect this security ? " returned the duenna. " By 
you and from you," replied Don Quixote, "for I am not made of 
marble, nor you, I suppose, of brass, nor is it ten o'clock in the 
morning, but midnight, and somewhat more, as I imagine, and we 
are in a room closer and more secret than the cave in which the 
bold and traitorous janeas enjoyed the beautiful and tender 
hearted Dido. But, madam, give me your hand ; for I desire no 
greater security than my own continence and reserve, besides what 
that most reverend veil inspires." So speaking, he kissed his right 
hand, and with it took hold of hers, which the duenna gave him 
with the same ceremony. 

Here Cid Hamet makes a parenthesis, and says : " By Mahomet ! 
I would give the better of my two vests, to have seen these two 
walking from the door to the bed-side, handing and handed so 

In short, Don Quixote got into bed, and Donna Rodriguez sat 
down in a chair at some little distance from it, without taking off 
her spectacles, or setting down her candle. Don Quixote covered 
himself up close, all but his face ; then, they both having paused 
awhile, the first who broke silence was Don Quixote. "Now, 
signora Donna Rodriguez," said he, " you may unrip and 
unbosom all that is in your careful heart and piteous bowels ; you 
shall be heard by me with chaste ears, and assisted by compassionate 
deeds." — " I believe it," answered the duenna ; "for none but so 


christian an answer could be expected from your worship's gentle 

and pleasing presence. The business then is, signor Don Quixote, 

that, though your worship sees me sitting in this chair, and in the 

midst of the kingdom of Aragón, in the garb of a poor persecuted 

duenna, I was born in the Asturias of Oviedo, and of a family 

allied to some of the best of that province. But my hard fortune, 

and the negligence of my parents, which reduced them, I knew not 

which way, to untimely poverty, carried me to the court of Madrid, 

where, for peace' sake, and to prevent greater inconveniencies, my 

parents placed me in the service of a great lady ; and I would have 

your worship know that, in making needle cases and plain work, I 

was never outdone by anybody in all my life. My parents left me 

in service, and returned to their own country, whence, in a few 

years after, I believe they went to heaven, for they were very good 

and Catholic Christians. I remained an orphan, and stinted to the 

miserable wages and short commons usually given in great houses 

to such kind of servants. But, about that time, without my giving 

any encouragement for it, a gentleman-usher of the family fell in 

love with me. He was a man in years, with a fine beard, of a 

comely person, and, above all, as good a gentleman as the king 

himself, for he was a mountaineer ^^^^ ^e ¿i¿ not carry on our 

amours so secretly but they came to the notice of my lady, who, 

without more ado, had us married in peace, and in the face of our 

holy mother the Catholic Roman church. From this marriage 

sprung a daughter, to finish my misfortune, not that I died in 

child-bed, for I went my full time, and was safely delivered ; but 

because my husband died soon after of a certain fright he took, and 

had I but time to tell the manner how, your worship, I am sure, 

would be astonished." Here the duenna began to weep most 

tenderly, and said : " Pardon me, good signor Don Quixote ; but 

I cannot command myself; so often as I call to mind my unhappy 

spouse, my eyes overflow with tears. Holy Virgin! with what 

stateliness did he use to carry my lady behind him on a puissant 

mule, black as jet! for in those times neither coaches nor sedans 

^^ Montañés, born in the mountains of the Asturias, where all the inhabitants look 
upon themselves as the descendants of Pelagius and his companions. 
VOL. III. 2 M 



were in fashion, as it is said they are now, and the ladies rode 
behind their squires. Nevertheless, I cannot help telling you the 
following story, that you may see how punctilious and well-bred my 
good husband was. 

" At the entrance of tlie Calle de Santiago, in Madrid, which is 
very narrow, an alcalde of one of the courts happened to be coming 
out with two of his officers before him. As soon as my good squire 
saw him, he turned his mule about, as if he designed to wait upon 
the alcalde. My lady, who was behind him, said to him in a low 
voice : * What are you doing, blockhead ! am not I here.' The 
judge civilly stopped his horse, and said : * Keep on your way, sir, 
it is my business rather to wait upon my lady Donna Casilda' (that 
was my mistress's name). My husband persisted, cap in hand, in 
his intention of waiting upon the alcalde. When my lady observed 
this, full of choler and indignation, she pulled out a great pin, or 
rather, I believe, a bodkin, and stuck it in the small of his back. 
My husband bawled out, and, writhing his body, down he came 
with his lady to the ground. Two of her footmen ran to help her 
up, as did the alcalde and his officers. The gate of Guadalajara, I 
mean the idle people that stood there, were all in an uproar. My 
mistress was forced to walk home on foot ; my husband went to a 
barber, telHng him he was quite run through and through the 
bowels. The courteousness and breeding of my spouse was ru- 
moured abroad, insomuch that the boys got it, and teased him with 
it in the streets. Upon this account, and because he was a little 
short-sighted, my lady turned him away, the grief whereof, I verily 
believe, was the death of him. I was left a widow, without the least 
resource, with a daughter upon my hands who went on increasing 
in beauty like the foam of the sea. Finally, as I had the reputation 
of a good workwoman at my needle, my lady duchess, who was then 
newly married to my lord duke, would needs have me with her to 
this kingdom of Aragón, together with my daughter. In process of 
time my daughter has grown up, and with her all the accomplishments 
in the world. She sings like any lark, dances quickly as thought, 
capers as if she would break her neck, reads and writes like a 
schoolmaster, and casts accounts like an usurer. I say nothing of 

PART II. — CHAP. XLVIir. , 275 

her cleanliness, for the running brook is not cleaner ; and she now 
numbers, if I remember right, sixteen years, five months and three 
days, one more or less. In a word, the son of a very rich farmer, 
who lives not far off in a village of my lord duke's, grew enamoured 
of this girl of mine ; to be short, I know not how it came about, but 
they got together, and, under promise of becoming her husband, he has 
seduced my daughter. He now refuses to perform his promise, and 
though my lord duke knows the affair, and I have complained again and 
again to him, and begged him to command this same young farmer 
to marry my daughter, yet he turns the deaf ear, and will hardly 
vouchsafe to listen to me. The reason is because the seducer's father 
is rich, and lends him money, and is bound for him on all occasions, 
and therefore he will not disoblige or offend him in any wise. Now, 
good sir, my desire is that your worship take upon you the redress- 
ing this wrong, either by entreaty or by force of arms ; for, accord- 
ing to universal report, your worship was born to redress grievances, 
to right the injured and succour the miserable. Be pleased, sir, 
to consider my daughter's fatherless condition, her gentility, her 
youth, and all the good qualities I have already mentioned. On my 
soul and conscience, of all the damsels my lady has, there is not one 
that comes up to the sole of her shoe. One of them, called Altsi- 
dora, who is reckoned to be the liveliest and most graceful of them 
all, falls above two leagues short, in comparison with my daughter. 
You must know, dear sir, that all is not gold that glitters. This 
same little Altisidora has more self-conceit than beauty, and more 
assurance than modesty ; besides, she is none of the soundest, for 
her breath is so strong there is no enduring to be a moment near 
her; even my lady duchess herself .... But mum for that, for 
they say walls have ears." — " What of my lady duchess ? " cried 
Don Quixote ; " tell me, madam Rodriguez, by my life. " — " Thus 
conjured," the duenna replied, " I cannot but answer to whatever is 
asked me with all truth. Your worship, signer Don Quixote, must 
have observed the beauty of my lady duchess, that complexion like 
any bright and polished sword, those cheeks of milk and crimson, 
with the sun in the one and the moon in the other ; that stateliness 
with which she treads, or rather disdains the very ground she walks 


on, that one would think she went dispensing health wherever she 
passes. Know then, sir, she may thank God for it, in the first 
place, and in the next, two fountains ^*^ she has, one in each leg, 
which discharge all the bad humours of which the physicians say 
she is full." — " Holy Virgin!" cried Don Quixote, "is it possible 
my lady duchess has such drains ? I should never have beheved it 
had the bare-footed friars themselves told it me ; but, since madam 
Donna Rodriguez says it, it must needs be so. But such fountains, 
and in such places, must distil nothing but liquid amber. Verily, 
I am now convinced that this making of fountains is a matter of 
great consequence in respect to health ^*5." 

Scarcely had Don Quixote said this, when the chamber door 
was thrown wide open. Surprise made Donna Rodriguez let fall 
her candle out of her hand, and the room remained as dark as 
pitch, as the saying is. Presently the poor duenna found herself 
griped so fast by the throat with two hands, that she could not 
squall ; another person, very nimbly, without speaking a word, 
whipped up her petticoats, and with a slipper, as it seemed, gave 
her so many slaps that it would have moved one's pity, as it did 
that of Don Quixote, who, however, lay still and silent, fearing lest 
the flogging should come next to his turn. His fear proved not in 
vain, for the silent executioners, leaving the well beaten duenna 
afraid to utter a cry, came to Don Quixote, and turning down the 
bed-clothes, they pinched him so often and so hard, that he could 
not forbear going to fisty-cuffs in his own defence, and all this in 
marvellous silence . The battle lasted some half an hour ; the 
phantoms vanished; Donna Rodriguez adjusted her dress, and, 
bewailing her misfortune, marched out at the door without saying 
a word to Don Quixote, who, sad and sorely pinched, confused and 

^** So issues were called, (Vide Gil Bias, book vii., eh. i.) 

^^ Issues and setons in the arms and legs, and even behind the neck, were 
very much in use in Cervantes' time. Matias de Lera, Philip IV's surgeon, 
says, in a treatise on the subject, that this remedy was by some employed to cure 
occasional slight fits of illness, by others to guard against the same, finally, by others, 
wantonly and solely with a view of being in fashion. {Practica de fuentes y sus 



pensive, remained alone, where we will leave him, impatient to 
learn who that perverse enchanter was that had handled him so 
roughly. But this shall be told in its proper place, for Sancho 
Panza calls upon us, and the symmetry of the history requires that 
we return to him. 






ow let US turn to the grand 
governor. The reader will remem- 
ber that we left him moody and 
out of humour at the knavish, 
picture-drawing peasant, who, 
instructed by the steward, and he by the duke, made fine game of 
Sancho Panza, who, in spite of his ignorance, held them all in tack. 
He said to those about him, and to doctor Pedro Recio, who when 
the secret of the duke's letter was over came back into the hall : 
" I now plainly perceive that judges and governors must or ought 
to be made of brass, if they would be insensible to the 
importunities of your men of business, who, being intent upon 
their own affairs alone, come what will, at all hours and at all times 
will needs be heard and despatched. And if the poor judge does 
not hear and despatch them, either because he cannot, or because 
it is not the proper time for giving them audience, presently they 
murmur and traduce him, gnawing his very bones and calumniating 
him and his family. Foolish and impertinent man of business, be 
not in such haste ; wait for the proper season and conjuncture for 



negociation ; come not at dinner-time, nor at bed time, for judges 
are made of flesh and blood ; they must give to their nature what 
their nature requires, except only poor I, who do not so by mine, 
thanks to Pedro Recio Tirteafuera here present, who would have 
me die of hunger, and afíirms that death is life. God grant the 
same hfe to him and all those of his tribe, I mean bad physicians, 
for good ones deserve palms and laurels." 

All who knew Sancho Panza, were in admiration to hear him 
talk so elegantly, and could not tell what to ascribe it to, unless 
that offices and weighty employments quicken and enliven some 
understandings, as they confound and stupify others. In short, 
doctor Pedro Recio Agüero de Tirteafuera promised he should 
sup that night, though it were contrary to all the aphorisms of 
Hippocrates. With this promise the governor rested satisfied, and 
waited with great impatience the coming of the night, and with it 
the hour of supper. And though time, to his thinking, stood still, 
yet at length the wished-for hour came, and they gave him some 
cow-beef hashed with onions, and calves feet, somewhat of the 
stalest, boiled. However he laid about him, wdth more relish than 

if they had given him Milan god-wits, Roman pheasants, veal of 



Sorento, partridges of Moron, or geese of Lavajos. In the midst 
of supper, turning to the doctor, he said : " Look you, master 
doctor, henceforward take no care to provide me your nice things 
to eat, nor your tit-bits ; it will be throwing my stomach quite off 
the hinges, which is accustomed to goat's-flesh, cow-beef and bacon, 
with turnips and onions. If perchance you give it court-ragouts 
and fricassees, it receives them with squeamishness, and sometimes 
with loathing. What master sewer here may do is to get me some 
of those eatables you call your ollas podridas ^*^ ; the stronger the 
better : and you may insert and stuff in them whatever you will, 
so it be eatable ; I shall take it kindly, and will one day make you 
amends. But let nobody play upon me ; for either we are, or we 
are not. Let us all live and eat together in peace and good 
friendship, for, when God sends daylight, it is day for everybody. 
I will govern this island wdthout losing my own right or taking 
away another man's. But let every one keep a good look-out, and 
mind each man his own business, for I would have him to know 
the devil is in the wind, and, if I am put to it, wonders vñll be 
seen ; if not, make yourselves honey, and the wasps will devour 
you." — " Certainly, my lord governor," said the sewer, " there is 
reason in all your worship says, and I dare engage, in the name 
of all the islanders of this island that they will serve your worship 
with all punctuality, love and good-will ; for your sweet way of 
governing from the very first leaves us no room to do or think any- 
thing that may redound to the disservice of your worship." — " I 
believe it," answered Sancho, " and they would be fools if they did 
or thought otherwise. And I tell you again to take care for my 
sustenance, and for that of my donkey ; this is what is most important 
in the business. When the hour comes, I will go the round, for it 
is my intention to clear this island of all manner of filth, vagabonds, 
idlers, and sharpers. You must understand, friends,that idle and lazy 
people in a commonwealth are the same as drones in a bee-hive, 

54fi Ollas podridas. They are composed of beef, mutton, bacon, chickens, partridges, 
sausages, black puddings, vegetables, and of many other kinds of ingredients. The 
name of this dish doubtless comes from the circumstance of the meat, etc. of which 
it is formed being stewed so long that it comes off the bones, and forms a mass like 
over-ripe fruit. 


which eat the honey that the industrious bees lay up in store. My 
design is to protect the peasants, preserve to the hidalgos their 
privileges, reward ingenious artists, and, above all, to respect religion 
and honour the religious. What think ye of this, my friends ? Do 
I say something, or do I crack my brain to no purpose?" — "My 
lord governor," said the steward, " speaks so well, that I wonder 
to hear a man so void of learning as your worship, who, I believe, 
cannot so much as read, say such and so many things, all so sententious 
and instructive, so far beyond all that could be expected from your 
worship's former understanding by those who sent us, and by us 
who are come hither. But every day produces new things; jests 
turn into earnest, and jokers are joked upon." 

The night came, and the governor supped, with the licence of 
signor doctor Recio. Every thing being prepared for the round, he 
set out with the secretary, the steward, the sewer and the historio- 
grapher who had the care of recording his actions, together with 
alguazils and judicial functionaries enough to have formed a 
middling battalion. In the midst of them marched Sancho, with 
his rod of office in his hand. They had scarcely traversed a few 
streets, when they heard the clashing of swords. They hastened 
to the place, and found two men fighting ; who, seeing the officers 
coming, desisted, and one of them cried : " Help, in the name of 
God and the king ! Is it permitted in this town to rob folks, and 
attack them in the streets ? " — " Be quiet honest man, "said Sancho, 
" and tell me what is the occasion of this fray ; I am the governor." 
The antagonist now said : ** My lord governor, I will briefly relate 
the matter. Your honour must understand that this gentleman is 
just come from winning in that gaming-house yonder, over the way, 
above a thousand reals, and God knows how. And I, being 
present, gave judgment in his favour in many a doubtful point, 
against the dictates of my conscience. He rose to depart with the 
winnings, and, when I expected he would have given me a crown 
at least, by way of present 5*7^ as is the usage and custom among 
gentlemen of distinction, such as I am, who stand by, ready at all 

*<? fíaratü was the name of u kind of gratuity given by winning players to the 
spectators who took their part. These spectators, who were colied barateros or 
VOL. ni. 2 N 



adventures to back unreasonable demands and prevent quarrels, he 
pocketed his money and went out of the house. I followed him 
in dudgeon, and, with good words and civil expressions, desired him 
to give me though it were but eight reals, since he knows I am a 
man of honour, and have neither office nor benefice, my parents 
having brought me up to nothing, and left me nothing. But this 
knave, as great a thief as Cacus, and as arrant a sharper as 
Andradilla, would give me but four reals. Judge, my lord governor, 
how little shame and how little conscience he has. But, in faith, 
had it not been for your honour's coming, I would have made him 
disgorge his winnings, and have taught him how many ounces go to 
the pound." — " What say you to this, friend ? " asked Sancho. The 

other answered : " All that my adversary has said is true. I did not 

intend to give him more than four reals, for 1 have often before 

given him money ; and they who expect presents from players should 

be polite, and cheerfully accept whatever is offered them, without 

standing upon terms with the winners, unless they know them for 

certain to be sharpers, and that their winnings are unfairly gotten. 

mirones, were divided into pedagogos or gansos, those who instructed new beginners, 
and doncaires, those who directed the game and decided doubtful throws. The 
word éaraifo also signified the fee paid by players for the use of cards, etc, to the masters 
of gambling-houses, which were as frequently kept by noble lords as by poor men, 
and which had a whole host of names, such as tallages, tablagerias, casas de 
conversación, tejieras, mandrachos, encierros, garitos. 


But, to demonstrate that I am a honest man, and no cheat, as he alleges, 
there could be no stronger proof than my refusal to comply with his 
demand ; for cheats are always tributaries to the lookers-on who 
know them." — *' That is true," said the steward ; " be pleased, my 
lord governor, to adjudge what shall be done with these men." — 
"What shall be done is this," answ^ered Sancho: "You, master 
winner, good, bad or indifferent, give your backer here immediately 
a hundred reals, and pay down thirty more for the poor prisoners. 
You, sir, who have neither office nor benefice, and live without any 
employment in this island, take these hundred reals instantly, and, 
sometime to-morrow, get out of this island for ten years, on pain, 
if you transgress, of finishing your banishment in the next life, for 
I will hang you on a gallows, or at least the hangman shall do it 
for me. And let no man reply, lest I punish him severely." 

The one paid the money, the other pocketed it : the one went 
out of the island, the other went home to his house. Then the 
governor said: "It shall cost me a fall, or I will demolish these 
gaming-houses, for I have a suspicion that they are very prejudical." 
— " This, at least," said one of the scriveners, " your honour cannot 
put down, for a great person keeps it, and what he loses in the year 
is beyond comparison more than what he gains by cards. Your 
worship may exert your authority against petty gaming-houses, 
which do more harm and cover more abuses. In the houses which 
belong to persons of quality, notorious cheats dare not put tlieir 
tricks in practice. And since the vice of play is become a common 
practice, it is better it should go forward in the houses of people of 
distinction than in those of mean quality, where they take in 
unfortunate flats after midnight, and strip off their very skin^^*^." 
— " Well, master notary," answered Sancho, " there is a great deal 
to be said on this subject." 

An archer now arrived, dragging a young man by the collar of 

his doublet. " My lord governor," said he, " this youth was 

coming towards us ; but, as soon as he perceived it was the round, 

"" Modorros means experienced sliarpers who passed the first half of the night in 
sleep, and came, like fresh troops, to fall at midnight on the heated and exhausted 
players, whom they easily stripped of all their remaining cash. This the gamblers 
called in their slang, lying by for the gleaning (quedarse a la espida). 



he faced about and began to run like a stag, a sign he must be 
some delinquent. I pursued him, and, had he not stumbled and fallen 
I should never have overtaken him." — " Why did you fly, young 
man?" asked Sancho. The youth replied: "My lord, to avoid 
answering the multitude of questions ofliicers are wont to ask." — 
" What trade are you ? " — "A weaver," — "And what do you weave ? " 
— "Iron heads for spears, so please your worship." — "You are 
pleasant with me, and value yourself upon being a joker ; it is very 
well. But whither were you going ? " — " To take the air*, sir." — 
" And pray, where do people take the air in this island ? " — " Where 
it blows." — " Good, you answer to the purpose ; you are a discreet 
youth. But now, make account that I am the air, and that I blow 
in your poop, and drive you to gaol. Here, lay hold of him, 
and carry him to prison : I will make him sleep^*^ there to-night 
without air." — " Before Heaven," said the youth, "your honour can 
no more make me sleep there than you can make me a king." — 
"Why cannot I make you sleep in prison?" demanded Sancho, 
" have I not power to confine or release you as I please ? " — " How 
much power soever your worship may have, you have not enough 
to make me sleep in prison." — "Why not?" replied Sancho; 
" away with him immediately, where he shall see his mistake with 
his own eyes; and lest the gaoler should put his interested 
generosity in practice, I will fine him two thousand ducats if he 
suffers you to stir a step from the prison." — " All this is matter of 
laughter," answered the youth, " and 1 still defy all the world to 
make me sleep this night in prison." — " Tell me, devil, cried Sancho," 
" have you some angel to deliver you, and unloose the fetters I 
intend to have clapped on you ? " — " My lord governor," answered 
the youth with an air of pleasantry, "let us abide by reason and come 
to the point. Supposing your worship orders me to gaol, to be 
loaded with chains and fetters, to be clapped into the dungeon with 
heavy penalties laid upon the gaoler if he lets me stir out : and sup- 
posing these orders punctually obeyed, if I have no mind to sleep, 

* Tomar el ayre. The same idiom in both languages. 

*^9 The Spanish verb to sleep means also to go to bed. Hence the kind of quibble 
about to follow. 


but to keep awake all night, without so much as shutting my eye- 
lids, can your worship, with all your power, make me sleep whether 
I will or not ? " — " No, certainly," said the secretary, " and the man 
has carried his point." — " So that," added Sancho, " you would 
forbear sleeping, only to have your own will, and not out of pure 
contradiction to mine ?" — " No, my lord," said the youth, " not even 
in thought." — " Then God be with you," continued Sancho ; " return 
home to sleep, and I wish you a good night's rest, for I will not 
endeavour to deprive you of it. But I advise you, for the future, 
not to be so jocose with oificers of justice, for you may meet with 
one that may lay the joke over your back." 

The youth went his way, and the governor continued his round. 
A few steps farther on, they came to two archers holding a man by 
the arm. " My lord governor," said they, " this peron, who seems 
to be a man, is not so : she is a woman, and no ugly one either, in 
man's clothes." They lifted up two or three lanterns, by the light 
of which they discovered the face of a woman, seemingly sixteen 
years of age, or thereabouts. Her hair was tucked up under a net- 
work cawl of gold and green silk, and she herself beautiful as a 
thousand pearls. They viewed her from head to foot, and saw she 
had on a pair of flesh-coloured stockings, with garters of white 
taffeta, and tassels of gold and seed pearl. Her breeches were of 
green and gold tissue, and she had on a loose coat of the same, 
under which she wore a very ñne waistcoat of white and gold stuff. 
Her shoes were white, and such as men wear. She had no sword, 
but a very rich dagger ; and on her fingers were many brilliant 
rings. In a word, every body liked the maiden, but no one of them 
knew lier. The inhabitants of the town said they could not imagine 
who she could be ; and they who were in the secret of the jests 
put upon Sancho admired the most, for the adventure was not of 
their contriving. They were in suspense, expecting the issue of 
this unforeseen accident. Sancho was struck with the beauty of the 
young lady, and asked her who she was, whither she was going, and 
what had moved her to dress herself in that habit. She replied, 
fixing her eyes on the ground, and blushing with shame : " Sir, I 
cannot declare so publicly what I am so much concerned to keep 



a secret. Only one thing I must assure you, that I am no thief, 
nor criminal person, but an unhappy maiden, whom the force of 

a certain jealousy has made break through the respect due to 
modesty." The steward, hearing this, said to Sancho : " My lord 
governor, order all your attendants to go aside, that this lady may 
speak her mind with less concern." The governor did so, and they 


all went aside, excepting the steward, the sewer and the secretary. 
Then the damsel proceeded, saying : " Gentlemen, I am daughter 
to Pedro Perez Mazorca, who farms the wool of this town, and 
comes frequently to my father's house." — " This will not pass, 
madam," said the steward, " for I know Pedro Perez very well, and 
am sure he has no child, son nor daughter. Besides your saying 
he is your father, you immediately add that he comes often to your 
father's house." — " I took notice of that," said Sancho. " Indeed, 
gentlemen," answered the damsel, " I am in such confusion that 
I know not what I say. But the truth is, I am daughter to Diego 
de la Liana, whom you must all know." — " This may be true," 
answered the steward, "for I know Diego de la Liana ; I know 
that he is a rich and noble hidalgo, that he has a son and a daughter, 
and that, since he has been a widower, nobody in all the country 
can say they have seen the face of his daughter, for he keeps her so 
confined that he will not give the sun leave to shine upon her, yet 
report says she is extremely handsome." — " That is true," answered 
the damsel, " and that daughter am I. Whether fame lies or not 
as to my beauty, you, gentlemen, are judges, since you have seen 
me." So saying, she began to weep most bitterly. The secretary 
perceiving this, whispered the sewer, and said very softly : " With- 
out doubt, something of importance must have been the cause of 
so considerable a person as this young lady leaving her own house, 
in such a dress and at such an hour." — " No doubt of that," 
answered the sewer, " besides that our suspicion is confirmed by 
her tears." 

Sancho comforted her the best he could, and desired her to tell 
them the whole matter without fear, promising that they would all 
endeavour to serve her cheerfully to the utmost of their power. 
** The case is, gentlemen," replied she, " that my father has kept 
me locked up these ten years past, that is to say, ever since my 
poor mother has been in her grave. Mass is said in our house in 
a rich oratory, and, in all this time, I have seen nothing but the 
sun in the heavens by day, and the moon and stars by night. I do 
not know what streets, squares, or churches arc, nor even men, 
excepting my father and brother, and Pedro Perez the wool 


farmer, whose constant visits to our house led me to say he was my 
father, to conceal tlie truth. This confinement, and denying me 
leave to go out, even to church, has for many days and months past 
disquieted me very much. I had a mind to see the world, or at 
least the town where I was born, thinking this desire was no breach 
of that decency young ladies ought to preserve towards themselves. 
When I heard talk of bull-fights, of ring-races, and the representa- 
tion of plays, I asked my brother, who is a year younger than 
myself, to tell me what those things were, and several others that 
I had never seen. He used to describe them to me in the best 
manner he could, and this did but inflame the desire I had of 
seeing them. In a word, to shorten the story of my ruin, I prayed 
and entreated my brother, and would to God that I had never 
prayed nor entreated him !...." At these words the young 
lady began weeping again. The steward said to her : " Proceed, 
madam, and make an end of telling us what has befallen you ; for 
your words and tears hold us all in suspense." — " I have but a few 
words left to say," answered the damsel, " though many tears to 
shed, for such misplaced desires as mine can be atoned for no other 

The beauty of the damsel had rooted itself in the soul of the 
sewer ; he held up his lantern again, to have another view of her, 
and fancied the tears she shed were dew-drops of the morning, or 
even orient pearls. He heartily wished her misfortune might not 
be so great as her tears and sighs seemed to indicate. The governor 
was out of all patience at the girl's dilatory manner of telling her 
story, and bid her keep them no longer in suspense, for it grew late, 
and they had a great deal more of the town to go over. She con- 
tinued between interrupted sobs and broken sighs, in these words : 
" All my misfortune and unhappiness consist in that I desired my 
brother to dress me in his clothes, and carry me out one night, 
when my father was asleep, to see the town. He, prevailed on by 
entreaties, granted my desire. Putting me on this habit, and 
dressing himself in a suit of mine, which fits as if it were made for 
him (for he has not a hair of beard, and one would take him 
for a very beautiful girl), this night, about an hour ago, we quitted 


our house. Guided by our own footboy and our unruly fancies, 
we traversed the whole town, and, as we were returning home, saw 
a great company of people; my brother said to me: " Sister, this 
must be the round ; put wings to your feet and fly after me, that 
they may not know us, or it will be worse for us." So saying, he 
turned his back and began, not to run, but to ñy. Before I had 
gone six paces, I fell down through terror, and at that instant the 
officer of justice coming up, seized and brought me before your 
honour, where my indiscreet longing has covered me with shame 
before so many people." — " In effect, then, madam," said Sancho, 
" no other mishap has befallen you ; nor did jealousy, as you told 
us at the beginning of your story, carry you from home ? " — " No 
other thing," said she, " has befallen me, nor is there any jealousy 
in the case, but merely a desire of seeing the world, which went no 
farther than seeing the streets of this town." The arrival of 
two sergeants, one of whom had overtaken and seized her brother 
as he fled from his sister, confirmed the truth of what the damsel 
had said. The youth had on nothing but a rich petticoat and a 
blue damask mantle with a border of gold ; he wore no head-dress 
nor ornament but his own hair, which was so fair and curling that 
it seemed so many ringlets of fine gold. 

The governor, steward and the sewer took him aside, and, 
without letting his sister hear, asked him how he came to be in 
that disguise ; and he, with no less bashfulness and concern, told 
the same story as his sister, at which the enamoured sewer was 
much pleased. But the governor said to the young people: 
" Really, gentlefolks, this is a very childish trick, and to relate this 
piece of folly there needed not half so many tears and sighs. Had 
you but said our names are so and so, we got out of our father's 
house by such a contrivance only out of curiosity and with no 
other design at all, the tale had been told and all these weepings 
and wailings might have been spared." — " That is true," answered 
the damsel, ** but the confusion I was in was so great that it did 
not suffer me to acquit myself as I ought." — " There is no harm 
done," answered Sancho ; " we will see you safe to your fatlier's, 
perhaps he has not missed you ; and henceforward be not so childish 
VOL. III. 2 O 



and eager to see the world. The maid that is modest, and a 
broken leg should stay at home, and the hen was lost by gadding 
abroad, and she who desires to see desires no less to be seen ; I say 
no more." 

The youth thanked the governor for the favour he intended them 
in seeing them safe home, and they bent their course that way, 
the house not being far off. When they arrived, the brother 
threw up a little stone to a grated window and that instant a 
servant-maid, who waited for them, came down and opened the 
door and they went in, leaving every one in admiration at their 
elegance and beauty as well as at their desire of seeing the world by 
night, and without stirring out of the town. But they imputed all 
to their tender years. The sewer's heart was pierced through and 
through, and he proposed within himself to demand her the next 
day of her father in marriage, taking it for granted he would not 
refuse him, seeing that he was one of the duke's servants. Sancho 
too had some thoughts of matching the young man with his daughter 
Sanchica. He determined to bring it about the first opportunity, 
fancying to himself that no match would be refused the governor's 
daughter. Thus ended that night's round ; and, two day's after, the 
government too, which put an end to all his designs and expectations, 
as will presently be seen. 

PART II. — CHAP. L. 291 




ID HAMET, the most punc- 
tual searcher after the 
very atoms of this true 
= history, says that when 
^^^ Donna Rodriguez went 
E^ out of her own chamber 
to go to Don Quixote's, 
another donna, who lay with her, perceived it, and, as all duennas 
have the itch of listening after, prying into and smelling out 
things, she followed her, so softly that good Rodriguez did not 
perceive it. When, as the duenna saw her enter Don Quixote's 
chamber, that she might not be wanting in the general humour of 
all duennas, which is to be tell-tales, away she went that instant to 
acquaint the duchess that Donna Rodriguez was then actually in 
Don Quixote's chamber. The duchess acquainted the duke with it 
and desired his leave that she and Altisidora might go and see what 
was the duenna's business with Don Quixote. The duke consented, 
and they both very softly, and step by step, went and posted 
themselves close to the door of Don Quixote's chamber, so close 
that they overheard all that was said within. But when the 
duchess heard the duenna expose the fountains of her issues, she 



could not bear it, nor Altisidora neither. They both, brimful of 
choler and longing for revenge, bounced into the room and pinched 
Don Quixote and whipped the duenna in the manner above related : 
for affronts, levelled against the beauty and vanity of women, 
awaken their wrath in an extraordinary manner, and inflame them 
with a desire of revenging themselves ! The duchess recounted to 
the duke all that had passed, with which he was much diverted ; 
and, proceeding in her design of making sport with Don Quixote, 
she despatched the page who had acted the part of Dulcinea in the 
project of her disenchantment to Teresa Panza, with her husband's 
letter (for Sancho was so taken up with his government that he had 
quite forgotten it), and with another from herself, and a large 
necklace of rich corals by way of present. 

Now the history tells us that the page was very discreet and 
sharp : and, being extremely desirous to please his lord and lady, 
he departed with a very good will for Sancho's village. When he 
arrived near it, he saw some women washing in a brook, of whom 

PART II. CHAP. L. 293 

he demanded if they could tell him whether one Teresa Panza, 
wife of one Sancho Panza, squire to a knight called Don Quixote 
de la Mancha, lived in that town. At this question a young wench 
who was washing started up and said : " That Teresa Panza is my 
mother, and that Sancho my father, and that knight our master." — 
" Come then, damsel," said the page, " and bring me to your 
mother, for I have a letter and a present for her from my lord 
your father." — " With all my heart, sir," answered the girl, who 
seemed to be about fourteen years of age ; and, leaving the linen 
she was washing to one of her companions, without putting any 
thing on her head or her feet, for she was bare-legged and dishevelled, 
she ran skipping along before the page's horse, saying : " Come 
along, sir, our house stands just at the entrance of the village, and 
there you will find my mother in pain enough for not having heard 
any news of my father this great while." — " I bring her such good 
news," answered the page, " that she may well thank God for it." 

In short, jumping, running, and capering all the way, the girl 
came to the village, and, before she got into the house, called aloud 
at the door : " Come forth, mother Teresa, come forth, come 
forth ; here is a gentleman who brings letters and other things 
from my good father." On hearing her voice, Teresa Panza came 
out, spinning a distaff full of tow, dressed in a grey petticoat, so 
short, that it looked as if it had been docked at the placket, with a 
grey boddice also, and her smock-sleeves hanging about it. She 
was not very old, though she seemed to be above forty ; but strong, 
hale, sinewy and hard as a hazel-nut. When she saw her daughter 
and the page on horseback : ** What is the matter, girl ? " cried 
she ; " what gentleman is this ?" — " It is an humble servant of my 
lady Donna Teresa Panza," answered the page. And as he spoke, 
he flung himself from his horse, and, with great respect, went and 
kneeled before the lady Teresa, saying: " Be pleased, Signora 
Donna Teresa, to give me your ladyship's hand to kiss, as being the 
lawful and only wife of signor Don Sancho Panza, sole governor of 
the island of Barataría." — " Ah, dear of my soul, forbear, do not 
so," answered Teresa. " I am no court dame, but a poor country- 
woman, daughter of a ploughman and wife of a squirc-crrant, and 



not of any governor at all." — *' Your ladyship," answered the page, 
" is the most worthy wife of an arch-worthy governor ; and, in 
proof of what I say, be pleased, madam, to receive this letter and 

this present." So saying he pulled out of his pocket a string of 
corals, each bead set in gold ; and putting it about her neck, he 
said : " This letter is from my lord governor, and another that 
I have here and these corals are from my lady duchess, who sends 
me to your ladyship." Teresa was amazed, and her daughter neither 
more or less. The little girl said : " May I die if our master Don 
Quixote be not at the bottom of this business, and has given papa 
the government or earldom he so often promised him." — " It is 
even so," answered the page, " and, through the instrumentality of 
Signer Don Quixote, my lord Sancho is now governor of the island 
of Barataría, as you will see by this letter." — " Pray, young gentle- 
man," said Teresa, " be pleased to read it ; for, though I can spin. 

PART II. CHAP. L. 295 

I cannot read a tittle." — " Nor I neither," added Sanchica; "but 
stay a little, and I will go call somebody that can, though it be the 
priest himself, or the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, who will come 
with all their hearts to hear news of my father." — " There is no 
need of calling any body," said the page ; " I cannot spin, but I 
can read, and will read it." 

He then proceeded to open and read it, and, it having been 
inserted before, it is purposely omitted here. Then he pulled out 
that from the duchess, which ran as follows : 

" Friend Teresa, — The good qualities, both of integrity and 
capacity, of your husband Sancho, moved and induced me to desire 
the duke my spouse to give him the government of one of the many 
islands he has. I am informed he governs Hke a hawk, at which I 
and my |lord duke are mightily pleased ; I give great thanks to Hea- 
ven that I have not been deceived in my choice of him for the said 
government ; for let me tell madam Teresa it is a difficult thing to 
find a good governor now-a-days, and God make me as good as 
Sancho governs well. I send you, my dear, a string of corals set in 
gold. I wish they were of oriental pearl ; but, as the proverb says, 
'whoever gives thee a bone has no mind to see thee dead.' The time 
wdll come when we shall be better acquainted, and converse together, 
and God knows what may happen. Commend me to Sanchica your 
daughter, and tell her from me to get herself ready ; I mean to 
marry her toppingly when she least thinks of it. I am told the 
sweet acorns of your town are very large. Pray send me some two 
dozen of them ; I shall esteem them very much as coming from your 
hand. Write to me immediately, advising me of your health and 
welfare ; and if you want anything, you need but open your mouth 
to be served to your heart's desire. So God keep you. From this 
place. Your loving friend, 

" The Duchess." 

" Ah ! " cried Teresa, when she had heard the letter, " how good, 
how plain, how humble a lady ! Let me be buried with such ladies 
as this, and not with our village hidalgos' wives, who think, because 



they are gentlefolks, the wind must not blow upon them, and go to 
church with as much vanity as if they were queens. One would 
think they took it for a disgrace to look upon a countrywoman ; and 
see here how this good lady, though she be a duchess, calls me 
friend, and treats me as if I were her equal : equal may I see her 
to the highest steeple in La Mancha. As to the acorns, sir, I will 
send her ladyship a bushel, and such as for their size, people may 
come to see and admire from far and near. For the present, San- 
chica, see and make much of this gentleman. Take care of his 
horse, bring some new-laid eggs out of the stable, cut some rashers 
of bacon, and let us entertain him like any prince ; the good news 
he has brought us and his own good looks deserve no less. In the 
meanwhile, I will step out and carry my neighbours the news of 
our joy, and especially to his reverence the priest and master Nicho- 
las the barber, who are, and always have been, your father's great 
friends." — "Yes, mother, I will," answered Sanchica; "but mind, 
I must have half that necklace, for I do not take my lady duchess 
to be such a fool as to send it all to you." — " It is all for you, 
daughter," answered Teresa, " but let me wear it a few days about 
my neck ; for truly methinks it cheers my very heart." — " You will 
be no less cheered," added the page, " when you see the bundle I 
have in this portmanteau. It is a habit of superfine cloth which 
the governor wore only one day at a hunting-match, and has sent 
to Signora Sanchica." — " May he live a thousand years 1 " an- 
swered Sanchica, "and the bearer neither more or less; ay, and two 
thousand if need be ! " 

Teresa now went out of the house with the letters, and the beads 
about her neck. She played as she went along with her fingers 
upon the letters, as if they had been a timbrel. Accidentally meet- 
ing the priest ar J Sampson Carrasco, she began to dance and say : 
" In faith, we have no poor relations now, we have got a government. 
Let the proudest gentlewoman of them all meddle with me, I will 
teach her her proper distance." — " What is the matter, Teresa 
Panza ? what extravagancies are these, and what papers are those 
you have in your hand ? " demanded the priest. " No other extra- 
vagancies," answered she, " but that these are letters from duchesses 

PART n. CHAP. L. 297 

and governors, and that the necklace you see round my neck is real 
coral, the Ave Marias and the Paternosters are of beaten gold, and I 
am a governess." — " God be your aid, Teresa, "replied the bachelor, 
" we understand you not, nor know what you mean." — " Believe 
.your own eyes," answered Teresa, giving them the letters. The 
priest read them aloud to Sampson Carrasco, and both were not a 
little surprised at their contents. The bachelor demanded who 
had brought those letters. Teresa answered that if they would come 
home with her to her house, they should see the messenger, who 
was a youth as fair as an arch-angel, and that he had brought her 
another present, worth twice as much. The priest took the corals 
from her neck, and looked at them over and over again, and being 
satisfied they were right, he began to wonder afresh. " By the 
gown I wear," cried he, " I know not what to say or think of 
these letters and presents. On one hand I see and feel the fineness 
of these corals, and on the other I read that a duchess sends to 
desire a dozen or two of acorns." — " Make these things tally if you 
can," said Carrasco. " But let us go and see the bearer of this 
packet, who may. give us some light into the difficulties which 
puzzle us." 

They did so, and Teresa went back with them. They found the 
page sifting a little barley for his horse, and Sanchica cutting a 
rasher to fry with eggs for the page's dinner, whose aspect and good 
appearance pleased them both very much. After they had politely 
saluted him, and he them, Sampson desired him to tell them news 
both of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. " For," added he, 
'* though we have read Sancho's and the duchess's letters, still we 
are confounded, and cannot divine what Sancho's government can 
mean, especially of an island, most or all of those in the Mediterranean 
belonging to his majesty." The page answered : " That signor Sancho 
Panza is a governor, there is no manner of doubt. Whether it be 
an island that he governs, or not, I concern not myself at all. Let 
it suffice that it is a town containing above a thousand inhabitants. 
As to the sweet acorns, I say my lady duchess is so humble and 
affable that her sending to beg acorns of a countrywoman is nothing, 
for ere now she has sent to borrow a comb of one of her neighbours. 

VOL. 111. * 2 P 



For you must know, gentlemen, that the ladies of Aragón, though 
of as great quality, are not so haughty or ceremonious as the ladies 
of Castile ; they treat people with less formality." 

While they were in the midst of this discourse, in came Sanchica 
with a basket of eggs. " Pray, sir," said she to the page, " does 
my father, now he is a governor, wear trunk-hose ^^^ ? " — " I never 
observed," answered the page ; *' but doubtless he does." — " God's 
my life! " replied Sanchica, "what a sight must it be to see my 
father with laced breeches ! Is it not strange that ever since I was 
born I have longed to see my father with his breeches laced to his 
girdle ? " — " I warrant you will, if you live," answered the page. 
" Before God, if his government lasts but two months, he is in a fair 
way to travel with a mask on his face ^^i." 

The curate and the bachelor easily perceived that the page spoke 
jestingly. But the fineness of the corals, and the hunting-suit 
which Sancho had sent (for Teresa had already shewn them the 
habit), completely mystified them. Nevertheless they could not 
forbear smiling at Sanchica's longing, and more when Teresa said : 
" Master priest, pray enquire if any body be going to Madrid or 
Toledo, who may buy me a round farthingale in the last new 
fashion, and one of the best that is to be had. Verily, verily, I 
intend to honour my husband's government as much as I can ; and, 
if they vex me, I will get me to this court myself, and ride in my 
coach as well as the best of them, for she who has a governor for 
her husband may very well have one and maintain it too." — " Ay, 
marry," cried Sanchica. " Would to God it were to-day rather than 
to-morrow, though folks that saw me seated in that coach with my 

^•^° These trunk-hose, laced tight to the leg and very full and ample from the 
middle of the thigh upwards, called calzas atacadas and more popularly pedorreras, 
we have been unable to render by any English word nearer than the word m the text. 
This garment was prohibited by a royal pragmatic, shortly after the appearance of the 
second part of Don Quixote. Ambrosio de Salazar relates that an hidalgo having 
been taken wearing calzas atacadas, after the prohibition, alleged in his defence 
when taken before the judges that his trunk-hose were the only cupboard he had to 
hold his clothes. He proceeded to draw from them, a comb, a shirt, a pair of table 
cloths, two napkins and a sheet. {Las Clavillenas de Recreación, Brussels, 1625, 
page 99.) 

661 People of condition wore on journies a kind of veil or very light mask to 
protect their countenance from the sun and wind. These masks were popularly 
called papahigos, swallow-figs. 



lady mother should say : ' Do but see Sanchica the garlic-eater's 
daughter, how she sits in state, and lolls in her coach like a she- 
pope ! ' But let them jeer ; let them trudge through the mud while 

I ride in my coach with my feet above the ground. A bad year 
and a worse month to all the murmur ers in the world, and if I 
grow warm let fools laugh on. Say I well, mother ? " — " Ay, 
mighty well, daughter," answered Teresa. " My good man Sancho 
foretold* me all this, and even greater good luck; you shall see, 
daughter, it will never stop till it has made me a countess. To be 
lucky, the whole business is to begin ; and as I often heard your 
good father, who, as he is yours, is also the father of proverbs, say : 
* When they give you a heifer, make haste with the halter ; when 
a government is given you, seize it; when they give you an 
earldom, lay your claws on it ; and when they whistle to you with 
a good gift, snap at it. If not, sleep on, and do not answer to the 
lucky hits and good fortune that stand calling at the door of your 
house.' " — " And what care I ?" added Sanchica, " let who will say 
when they see me step it stately and bridle it : * The higher the 
monkey climbs, the more he exposes his bald haunches,* and so 



forth." The priest, hearing this, said : " I cannot believe but all 
the race of the Panzas were born with a bushel of proverbs in 
their stomachs ; I never saw one of them who did not scatter them 
about at all times, and in all discourses." — " I believe so too," 
added the page, "for my lord governor Sancho utters them at 
every step, and, though many of them are wide of the purpose, 
still they please, and my lady duchess and the duke commend them 
highly." — " You persist then in affirming, sir," said the bachelor, " that 
this business of Sancho's government is real and true, and that these 
presents and letters are really sent by a duchess ? For our parts 
though we touch the presents, and have read the letters, we believe 
it not, and take it to be one of our countryman Don Quixote's 
adventures, who thinks every thing of this kind done by way of 
enchantment. Therefore I could almost find in my heart to touch 
and feel your person, to know whether you are a visionary messenger, 
or one of flesh and bones." — "All I know of myself, gentlemen," 
answered the page, "is that I am a real messenger, and that signor 
Sancho Panza actually is a governor, that my lord duke and my 
lady duchess can give, and have given the said government, and I 
have heard it said that the said Sancho Panza behaves himself most 
notably in it. Whether there be any enchantment in this, or not, 
you may dispute by yourselves. By the oath I am going to take, 
which is, by the life of my parents who are living, and whom I 
dearly love ^^^ ^ J know nothing more of the matter." — " It may be 
so," replied the bachelor ; " but dubitat Augustinus'' — " Doubt 
who will," answered the page, " the truth is what I tell you, and truth 
will always get above a lie, like oil above water. If you will not 
believe me, operibus credite et non verbis ; come one of you gentle- 
men along with me, and you shall see with your eyes what you wall 
not believe by the help of your ears." — " That jaunt is for me," 
cried Sanchica. " Take me behind you, sir, upon your nag, I will 
go with all my heart to see my honoured father." — " The daughters 
of governors," said the page, " must not travel alone, but attended 
with coaches, litters and good store of servants." — " Before God," 
answered Sanchica, " I can travel as well upon an ass's colt, as in a 

^^2 To swear by the life of one's father and mother, was a form of oath very 
frequently used in Cervantes' time. 



coach; I am none of your fastidious, squeamish folks." — "Peace, 
wench!" cried Teresa; you know not what you say and the gentle- 
man is in the right. According to reason, each thing in its season ; 
when it was Sancho, Sancha ; and when governor, madam. Said I 
amiss sir ? " — " Madam Teresa says more than she imagines," 
replied the page ; but pray give me to eat, and despatch me quickly, 
for I return home this night." — " Come, sir," said the priest, "and 
do penance with me, for madam Teresa has more good will than 
good cheer to welcome so worthy a guest." 

The page refused at first, but at length thought it most for his 
good to comply, and the priest very willingly took him home with 
him, that he might have an opportunity of enquiring at leisure 
after Don Quixote and his exploits. The bachelor offered Teresa to 
write answers to her letters ; but she would not let him meddle in 
her matters, looking upon him as somewhat of a wag. She preferred 
to give a roll of bread and a couple of eggs to a young noviciate friar, 
who could write, and who wrote for her two letters, one for her hus- 
band, the other for the duchess, and both of her inditing, and none of 
the worst recorded in this grand history, as will be seen hereafter. 




osiNG sight of the 
page and Teresa for 
awhile, the history 
reverts to the hus- 
band of the latter. 
Day succeeded the 
night of the gover- 
nor's round, which the sewer had passed without sleeping, his 
thoughts being taken up with the countenance, air and beauty of 
the disguised damsel. The steward spent the remainder of it in 
writing to his lord and lady what Sancho Panza said and did, 
equally wondering at his deeds and sayings, for his words and actions 
were intermixed with strong indications both of discretion and 
folly. In short, signor governor got up, and, by the direction of 
doctor Pedro Recio, they gave him to break his fast a little conserve 
and four draughts of cold water, which Sancho would gladly have 
exchanged for a piece of bread and a bunch of grapes. But, making 
a virtue of necessity, he submitted to it with sufficient grief to his 

PART ir. CHAP. LI. 303 

soul and toil to his stomach ; Pedro Recio making him believe that 
light meals of light viands quicken the judgment, the properest thing 
that can be for persons appointed to rule and bear offices of dignity, 
in which there is not so much occasion for bodily strength as for that 
of tlie understanding. By means of this sophistry, poor Sancho 
endured hunger to such a degree, that, inwardly, he cursed the 
government, and even him that gave it. 

However, with his hunger and his conserve, he sat in judgment 
that day ; and the first thing that offered was a question proposed 
by a stranger, in the presence of the steward and the rest of the 
acolytes. It was this : " My lord, a main river divides the two 
parts of one lordship, and I beg my lord to be attentive, for it is 
a case of importance, and somewhat difficult. I say then that 
over this river stood a bridge, vand at the head of this bridge a 
gallows, and a kind of court-house, in which there met commonly 
four judges, whose oflice it was to"'give sentence according to a law 
enjoined by the owner of the river, of the bridge, and of the lord- 
ship ; this law was thus conceived : * Whoever passes over this 
bridge from one side to the other, must first take an oath whence 
he comes and what business he is going about. If he swear true, 
let him pass, but if he tell a lie, he shall die for it upon the gallows, 
without any remission.' This law being known, and the rigorous 
conditions thereof, several persons passed over, for, by what they 
swore, it was soon perceived that they swore the truth, and the judges 
accordingly allowed them to pass freely. Now it came to pass that 
a certain man to whom the question was put, swore and said : " By 
the oath I have taken, I swear that I am going to die upon that 
gallows which stands yonder, and that this is my own business, and 
no other. The judges deliberated upon the oath, and said, " If we 
let this man pass freely, he swore a lie, and, by the law, he ought 
to die; but if we hang him, he swore he went to die upon that 
gallows, and having sworn the truth, by the same law he ought to go 
free. It is now demanded of my lord governor how the judges 
shall proceed with this man ; for they are still doubtful and unde- 
cided. Having been informed of the acuteness and elevation of 
your lordship's understanding, they have sent me to beseech your 



lordship, on their behalf, to give your opinion in so intricate and 
doubtful a case." 

" For certain," answered Sancho, " these gentlemen, the judges 
who sent you to me, might have saved themselves and you the 
labour, for I have more of the blunt than the acute in me. Never- 
theless, repeat me the business over again, that I may understand 
it : perhaps I may hit the mark." The querist repeated what he 
had said once or twice. Sancho then said, " In my opinion, this 
afíair may be briefly resolved, thus : the man swears he is going to 
die on the gallows ; if he is hanged, he swore the truth, and, by the 
law established, ought to be free and pass the bridge ; if they do 
not hang him, he swore a lie, and, by the same law, ought to be 
hanged." — " It is just as signor governor says," rejoined the mes- 
senger, " and nothing more is wanting to the right stating and 
understanding of the case." — " I say then," replied Sancho, " that 
they let pass that part of the man that swore the truth, and hang 
that part that swore a lie ; thus the condition of the passage will 
be literally fulfilled." — *' If so, signor governor," returned the 
querist, " it wdll be necessary to divide the man into two parts, the 
false and the true, and if he be cut asunder, he must necessarily 
die. Thus there will not a tittle of the law be fulfilled. Yet there 
is an express necessity of fulfilling the law. — " Come hither, honest 
man," answered Sancho. " Either I am a very dunce, or there is 
as much reason to put this passenger to death as to let him live 
and pass the bridge ; for, if the truth saves him, the lie equally 
condemns him. This being so, as it really is, I am of opinion that 
you tell those gentlemen who sent you to me that, since the reasons 
for condemning and acquitting him are equal, they let him pass 
freely, for it is always preferable to do good rather than harm ; and 
this I would give under my hand, if I could write. Moreover, in 
this case, I speak not out of my own head, but upon recollection of a 
precept given me, among many others, by my master Don Quixote, 
the night before I set out to be governor of this island ; which pre- 
cept was, that when justice happens to be in the least doubtful, I 
should incline and lean to the side of mercy. God has been 
pleased to make me remember it in the present case, in which it 

PART II. — CHAP. LI. 305 

comes in so pat/' — " It does so," answered the steward, " and, for 
my part, I think Lycurgus himself, who gave laws to the Lacede- 
monians, could not have given a better judgment than that now 
given by the great Panza. Let us have no more hearings this 
morning, and I will give order that signor governor shall dine to- 
day much to his satisfaction." — " That is what I desire, and let us 
have fair play," cried Sancho. " Let me but dine, and bring me 
cases and questions never so thick ; I will despatch them in the 
snuffing of a candle." 

The steward was as good as his word, making it a matter of con- 
science not to starve so discerning a governor. Besides, he intended 
to come to a conclusion with him that very night, and to play him 
the last trick he had in commission. 

It came to pass that after Sancho had that day dined, against all 
the rules and aphorisms of doctor Tirteafuera, as the attendants 
were serving the dessert, a courier came in with a letter from Don 
Quixote to the governor. Sancho bid the secretary read it first to 
himself, and if there was nothing in it that required secrecy, to read 
it aloud. The secretary did so, and glancing over it : " Well may 
it be read aloud," said he, " for what signor Don Quixote writes to 
your lordship deserves to be printed and written in letters of gold ; 
the contents are these : 


EARN, friend Sancho, that though I expected to have 
heard news of your negligencies and impertinencies, 
I have had accounts of your discretion ; for which I 
give particular thanks to Heaven, that can raise the 
poor from the dunghill ^^^, and make wise men of fools. I am told 
you govern as if you were a man, and are a man as if you were a 
beast, such is the humility of your demeanour. But I would 
have you take notice, Sancho, that it is often expedient and neces- 
sary, for the sake of authority, to act in contradiction to the humility 

«3 Pgalras. 



of the heart ; for the decent adorning of the person in weighty em 
ployments must be conformable to what those offices require, and 
not according to the measure of that to which a man's own humble 
condition inclines him. Go well clad : a broomstick well dressed 
does not appear a broomstick. I do not mean that you should 
wear jewels or fine clothes, nor, being a judge, that you should 
dress like a soldier ; but that you should adorn yourself with such 
a habit as suits your employment, and such as is neat and hand- 
somely made. To gain the goodwill of the people you govern, two 
things, among others, you must do : the one is to be civil to all, 
though I have already told you this ; and the other, to take care 
that there be plenty, since nothing is so discouraging to the poor 
as hunger and dearness of provisions. 

" Publish not many edicts; when you do enact pragmatics and 
decrees, see that they be good ones, and above all that they are 
well observed; for edicts that are not kept are as if they had not 
been made, and serve only to show that the prince, though he had 
wisdom and authority suflicient to make them, had not the courage 
to see them put in execution. And laws that intimidate and are 
not executed, become like the log, king of the frogs, which terrified 
them at first, but in time they contemned him and got upon his 

" Be a father to virtue, and a cruel stepfather to vice. Be not 
always severe, nor always mild, and choose the mean betwixt these 
two extremes ; for therein consists the main point of discretion. 
Visit the prisons, the shambles, the markets ; the presence of the 
governor in such places is of great importance. — Comfort the 
prisoners, that they may hope to be quickly despatched. — Be a 
bugbear to the butchers, who will then make their weights true, and 
to the market-people for the same reason. — Do not show yourself, 
though perchance you may be so, but I do not believe it, given to 
covetousness, to women, or gluttony ; for when the town, and 
especially those who have to do with you, find your ruling passion, by 
that they will play their engines upon you, till they have battered 
you down into the depth of destruction. — View and re-view, con- 
sider and re-consider, the counsels and documents I gave you in 


writing before you went hence to your government : you will see 
how you will find in them, if you observe them, a choice supply to 
help to support you under the toils and diificulties which governors 
meet with at every turn. — Write to your patrons, the duke and 
duchess, and shew yourself grateful ; for ingratitude is the daughter 
of pride, and one of the greatest of sins. The person who is grate- 
ful to those that have done him good shews thereby that he will be 
so also to God, who has already done and is continually doing him 
so much good. 

" My lady duchess has despatched a messenger, with your suit, 
and another present, to your wife, Teresa Panza ; we expect an 
answer every moment. I have been a httle out of order with a 
certain cat-clawing which befel me, not much to the advantage of 
my nose ; but it was nothing ; if there are enchanters who persecute 
me, there are others who defend me. Let me know if the steward 
who is with you had any hand in the actions of the Trifaldi, as you 
suspected. Give me advice, from time to time, of all that happens 
to you, since the way is so short; 1 have besides thoughts of 
quitting this idle life very soon; for I was not born for it. A 
business has fallen out which will, I believe, go near to bring me 
into disgrace with the duke and duchess. But, though it afflicts 
me much, it affects me nothing, for, in short, I must comply 
with the rules of my profession rather than with their plea- 
sure, according to the adage : Amicus Plato, sed magis arnica 
Veritas. I write this in Latin, for I persuade myself you have 
learned it since you have been a governor. And so farewell; 
and God have you in his keeping, that nobody may pity you. 

" Your friend, 
"Don Quixote de la Mancha." 


Sancho listened with great attention to the letter, which was 
applauded and looked upon to be very judicious by all that heard 
it. Presently Sancho rose from table, and, calling the secretary, 
shut himself up with him in his chamber, resolved immediately to 
send an answer to his lord Don Quixote. He bid the secretary, 
without adding or diminishing a tittle, to write what he should 
dictate. The scribe obeyed, and the answer was to the following 
purpose : 


uiETNESS and pleasure, dear master of my soul, 
have been quite banished from me since I became a 
governor. The hurry of my business is so great, 
that I have not time to scratch my head, nor so 
much as to pare my nails, therefore I wear them 
very long, which God remedy. This I say, that your worship 
may not wonder if hitherto I have given you no account of my well 
or ill being in this government, in which I have, hitherto, suffered 
more hunger than when we two wandered about through woods and 

" My lord duke wrote to me the other day, giving me advice 
that certain spies were come into this island to kill me ; but, so far, 
I have been able to discover no other besides a certain doctor, who 
has a salary in this place for killing as many governors as shall 
come hither. He calls himself doctor Pedro Recio, and is a native 
of Tirteafuera ^^^ ; a name before God, sufficient to make one fear 
djdng by his hands ! This same doctor says he does not cure dis- 
tempers when people have them, but prevents them from coming. 
Now the medicines he uses are diet upon diet, till he reduces the 
patient to bare bones, as if a consumption were not a worse malady 
than a fever. In short, he is murdering me by hunger, and I am 
dying of despite ; for, instead of coming to this government to eat hot 
and drink cool, and to recreate my body between Holland sheets 

«* Vide note 537, page 258 of this Volume. 

PART II. — CHAP. LI. 309 

upon beds of dowai, I am come to do penance, as if I were a hermit ; 
and, as I do it against my will, I verily think, in the long run, the 
devil will carry me away. 

" Hitherto I have touched no revenue nor taken any bribe, and 1 
cannot imagine what it will end in, for here I am told that the 
governors who come to this island, before they set foot in it, used 
to receive a good sum of money by way of present or loan from 
the people, and, moreover, that this is the custom with those who go 
to other governments, as well as with those who come to this. 

" The night before last, as I was going the round, I met a very 
handsome damsel in man's clothes, and her brother in woman's. 
My sewer fell in love with the girl, and has, he says, already made 
choice of her for his wife. I have chosen the brother for my son- 
in-law. To-day we both intend to disclose our minds to their 
father, who is one Diego de la Liana, an hidalgo and an old 
Christian as much as one can desire. 

" I visit the markets, as your worship advises me. Yesterday, I 
found a woman who sold new hazel-nuts, and it was proved upon 
her that she had mixed with the new a bushel of old rotten ones. 
I confiscated them all to the use of the charity-boys, who well know 
how to distinguish them, and sentenced her not to come into the 
market again for fifteen-days. I am told I behaved bravely. What 
I can tell your worship, is that it is reported in this town that there 
is not a worse sort of people than your market-women, for they are 
all shameless, hard-hearted and impudent, and I verily believe it is 
so, by those I have seen in other places. 

" As concerning my lady duchess's having written to my wife 
Teresa Panza, and sent her the present your worship mentions, I 
am mightily pleased with it, and will endeavour to show my grati- 
tude at a proper time and place. Pray kiss her honour's hands in 
my name, and tell her she has not thrown her favours into a rent 
sack, as time will show. I would not wish you to have any cross- 
reckonings of disgust with our patrons the duke and duchess ; for, 
if your worship quarrels with them, it is plain it must redound to 
my damage ; and, since your worship advises me not to be ungrate- 
ful, it will not be proper you should be so yourself to those who 


have done you so many favours, and who have entertained you so 
generously in their castle. 

" The cat business I understand not ; but I suppose it must be 
one of those unlucky tricks the v^^icked enchanters are wont to play 
your worship ; I shall know more when we meet. I would willingly 
send your worship something or other, but I cannot tell what, un- 
less it be some little clyster-pipes, which they make in this island 
very curiously. If my employment holds, I will look out for 
something to send, right or wrong ^^^. If my wife Teresa Panza 
writes to me, be so kind as to pay the postage, and send me the 
letter, for I have a mighty desire to know the estate of my house, 
my wife and my children. And now, may God deliver your 
worship from evil-minded enchanters, and bring me safe and sound 
out of this government, which I doubt, for I expect to lay my 
bones here, considering how doctor Pedro Recio treats me. 

" Your worship's servant, 
" Sancho Panza, the Governor." 

The secretary made up the letter, and despatched the courier 
with it immediately ; then, Sancho's mystifiers contrived among 
themselves how to put an end to his government. That evening 
Sancho spent in making some ordinances for the good government 
of that which he took to be an island. He decreed that there 
should be no monopolizers of provisions in the commonwealth, and 
that wines might be imported indifferently from any parts the mer- 
chant pleased, with this injunction; that he should declare its 

555 De haldas o de mangas. These words have double meanings : one, which 
means the skirts of a magistrate's robe, signified also the right to gather as a governor. 
The other, meaning the sleeves, signified at the same time presents made at the great 
feasts in the year, as Christmas and New Year's days, or on occasions of great public 
rejoicing, as the accession of a new king. Hence the proverb ; Buenas son mangas 
después, de Pascua. 


growth, in order that a price might be set upon it according to its 
goodness, character and true value ; adding that whoever adulterated 
it with water, or changed its name, should be put to death for it. He 
moderated the price of all sorts of hose and shoes, especially the 
latter, the current price of which he thought exorbitant ^^^. He 
limited the wages of servants, which before travelled unbridled in the 
road of interest. He laid most severe penalties upon those who 
should sing lascivious and improper songs by day or by night. He 
decreed that no blind man should sing his miracles in verse, unless 
he produced an authentic testimony of the truth of them, esteem- 
ing most of those sung by that sort of people to be false, in pre- 
judice to the true ones. He created an alguazil of the poor, not 
to persecute them, but to examine whether they were such or not ; 
for, under colour of feigned amputations and counterfeit sores, they 
are often sturdy thieves and hale drunkards. In short, he made 
such wholesome ordinances, that they are observed in that town to 
this day, where they are called : The Constitutions of the great 
governor Sancho Panza, 

566 We read in an economical author contemporary with Cervantes : " While of late 
years wheat has been selling at Segovia for its weight in gold, while house-rents have 
been as high as heaven at that and other towns, a pair of double soled shoes has 
fetched three reals (eighteen pence), and four at Madrid. At the present day, seven 
reals are boldly asked for the same article, nor will the vendor take less than six 
reals and a half. It is frightful to think where all this will stop." (M S. iu the 
^ibliotheque Royale.— Codi. 156, f. 64.) 




ID Hamet relates that Don 
Quixote, healed of his scratches, 
¿^ began to think the Kfe he led in 
f^ the castle was against all the 
rules of knight-errantry which 
he professed ; therefore he resolved to ask leave of the duke and 
duchess to depart for Saragossa, the celebration of the tourna- 
ments drawing near, wherein he proposed to win the suit of 
armour, the usual prize at that festival. Being one day at 
table with their excellencies, about to unfold his purpose and 
ask their leave, on a sudden there entered, at the door of the 
great hall, two women, as it afterwards appeared, covered from 
head to foot with mourning weeds. One of them coming up to 
Don Quixote, threw herself at full length on the ground, and, in- 
cessantly kissing his feet, poured forth such dismal, deep and 
mournful groans, that all who heard and saw her were confounded. 
Though the duke and duchess imagined it was some jest their 
servants were putting upon Don Quixote, yet seeing how vehe- 
mently the woman sighed, groaned and wept, they were themselves 


in suspense, till the compassionate Don Quixote, raising her from 
the ground, prevailed with her to discover herself and remove the 
veil from before her tearful countenance. She obeyed, and dis- 
covered what they little expected to see, the face of Donna Rodri- 
guez, the duenna of the house ; the other mourner was her daughter, 
who had been deluded by the rich farmer's son. All that knew 
her wondered, and the duke and duchess more than anybody. 
They took her for a soft fool, yet not to such a degree as to act so 
mad a part. At length Donna Rodriguez, turning to her lord 
and lady, humbly said : " Be pleased, your excellencies, to give me 
leave to confer a little with this gentleman, for so it behoves me to 
do to get successfully out of an unlucky business into which the 
presumption of an evil-minded bumpkin has brought me." The 
duke answered that he gave her leave, and that she might confer 
with Don Quixote as long as she pleased. She then, directing 
her face and speech to Don Quixote, added: " It is not long, 
valorous knight, since I gave you an account how injuriously and 
treacherously a wicked peasant has used my dear child, this unfor- 
tunate girl. You promised me to stand up in her defence, and see 
her righted. Now I understand that you are departing from tliis 
castle in quest of good adventures, which God send you. There- 
fore my desire is that before you begin making your excursions on 
the highways, you would challenge this untamed rustic, and oblige 
him to marry my daughter, in compliance with the promise he 
gave her to be her husband before he had his will of her. To 
think to meet with justice from my lord duke, is to look for pears 
upon an elm-tree, for the reasons I have already told your worship in 
private. So, God grant your worship much health, not forsaking us." 
To these words Don Quixote replied with much gravity and 
emphasis : " Good madam duenna, moderate your tears, or rather 
dry them up, and spare your sighs. I take upon me the charge of 
seeing your daughter's wrongs redressed, though it were better she 
had not been so easy in believing the ^promises of lovers, who for 
the most part are very ready at promising, and very slow in per- 
forming. Therefore, with my lord duke's leave, I will depart im- 
mediately in search of this ungracious youth, and will find, and 


challenge, and kill him, if he refuse to perform his contract; for the 
principal end of my profession is to spare the humble and chastise 
the proud, I mean to succour the wretched and destroy the op- 
pressor." — " You need not give yourself any trouble," answered the 
duke, " to seek the rustic of whom this good duenna complains, nor 
need you ask my permission to challenge him. Suppose him 
challenged, and leave it to me to give him notice of this challenge 
and make him accept it, and come and answer for himself at this 
castle of mine, where both shall fairly enter the lists, all the usual 
ceremonies be observed, and exact justice distributed to each, as is 
the duty of all princes who grant the lists to combatants within the 
bounds of their territories." — " With this assurance and with your 
grandeur's leave," replied Don Quixote, " for this time I renounce 
my gentility, lessen and demean myself to the lowness of the offender, 
and put myself upon a level with him, that he may be qualified to 
fight with me. So, though absent, I challenge and defy him, upon 
account of the injury he has done in deceiving this poor girl, who 
was a maiden and by his fault is no longer such, and he shall either 
perform his promise of making her his wife, or die in the dispute." 
Immediately pulling off a glove, he threw it into the middle of the 
hall ; the duke took it up, repeating that he accepted the challenge 
in the name of his vassal, appointing the time to take place on the 
sixth day from that, the lists to be in the court of the castle ; the 
arms, those usual among knights, a lance, shield, laced suit of 
armour, and all the other pieces, without deceit, fraud or talisman 
of any kind, being first viewed and examined by the judges of the 
field. " But especially," he added, " it is necessary the good 
duenna and the naughty maiden commit the justice of their cause 
to the hands of signor Don Quixote ; for otherwise nothing can be 
done, nor can the said challenge be duly executed." — " I do commit 
it," answered the duenna. " And I too," added the daughter, 
bashfully, shedding tears as she spoke. 

The day thus appointed, and the duke having resolved within 
himself what was to be done in the business, the two mourners 
went their way. The duchess ordered that henceforward they 
should be treated, not as their servants, but as lady adventurers, 

PART TI. — CHAP. LII. 315 

who were come to her house to demand justice. So they had a sepa- 
rate apartment ordered them, and were served as strangers, to the 
amazement of the rest of the family, who knew not whither the folly 
and boldness of Donna Rodriguez and her ill-errant daughter drove. 

While they were thus engaged in perfecting the joy of the feast 
and giving a good end to the dinner, there suddenly entered at the 
hall-door the page who had carried the letters and presents to 
Teresa Panza, wife of the governor Sancho Panza. The duke and 
duchess were much pleased at his arrival, being desirous to know 
the success of his journey. They having asked him, the page 
replied he could not relate it so publicly nor in few words, and 
desired their excellencies would be pleased to adjourn it to a private 
audience, and in the mean time to entertain themselves with the 
letters. Pulling out a couple, he put them into the hands of the 
duchess. The superscription of one was : " For my lady duchess 
such a one, of I know not what place ;" and the other : " To my 
husband Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataria, whom 
God grant more years than me." 

The duchess's cake was dough, as the saying is, till she had read 
her letter ; opening it, she run it over to herself, and finding it 
might be read aloud, in order that the duke and the by-standers 
might hear it, she read what follows : 


OYFULLY and with great satisfaction, my dear lady, 
I received the letter your grandeur wrote me, and 
indeed I wished for it mightily. The string of 
corals is very good, and my husband's hunting-suit 
comes not short of it. Our whole village is highly 

-— * pleased that your ladyship has made my Sancho 

> inor, though nobody believes it, especially the priest and 
master Nicholas the barber, and Sampson Carrasco the bachelor. 
But what care I ? for, so long as the thing is so, and it really is, let 
each one say what he lists. Though, if I may own the truth, 1 
should not have believed it myself, had it not been for the corals 
and the habit ; for everybody in this village think my husband a 


dunce, and take liim from governing a flock of goats, cannot 
imagine what government he can be good for. God be his guide, 
and speed him as he sees best for his children. I am resolved, dear 
lady of my soul, with your ladyship's leave, to bring this good day 
home to my house, and hie me in court to loll it in a coach, and burst 
the eyes of a thousand people that envy me already. Therefore 
I beg your ladyship to order my husband to send me a little money, 
and let it be enough ; for, at court, expenses are great. Bread 
there sells for a real, and flesh for thirty maravedis the pound, 
which is a judgment. If he is not for my going, let him send me 
word in time, for my feet are in motion to begin my journey. My 
gossips and neighbours tell me that, if I and my daughter go fine 
and stately at court, my husband will be known by me more than 
I by him, for folks to be sure will ask : * What ladies are those in 
that coach ? ' and a footman of ours will answer : * The wife and 
daughter of Sancho Panza, governor of the island of Barataría.' 
In this manner Sancho will be known, and I shall be esteemed, 
and to Rome for every thing ^^^. I am as sorry as sorry can be, 
that there has been no gathering of acorns this year in our village. 
I however send your highness about half a peck, which I went to 
the forest to pick and cull one by one. I could find none 
larger, though I vdsh they had been as big as ostrich eggs. 

" Let not your splendour forget to write to me ; I will take care 
to answer, advising you of my health and all that shall ofler worth 
advising from this place, where I remain praying to our Lord to 
preserve your honour, and not to forget me. My daughter 
Sancha and my son kiss your ladyship's hands. 

*' She who has more mind to see your ladyship than to write to you, 

*' Your servant, 

*' Teresa Panza." 

^^ A very common expression at the time when Rome dispensed all indulgences 
and pardons. 

PART IT. — CHAP. LII. 317 

Great was the pleasure all received at hearing Teresa Panza's 
letter, especially the duke and duchess ; the latter asked Don 
Quixote whether he thought it proper to open the letter for the 
governor, which must needs be most excellent. Don Quixote said, 
to please them, he would open it ; which he did, and found the 
contents as follows : 


UDGE of the satisfaction I experienced, dear Sancho 
of my soul, from the receipt of your letter. I vow 
and sw^ear to you, upon the faith of a Catholic Christian, 
that I was within two fingers' breadth of running 
\j^^i^^^ mad with joy. Look you, brother, when I came to 
hear that you was a governor, methought I should have dropped 
down dead for mere gladness ; for you know it is usually said that 
sudden joy kills as effectually as excessive grief. Your daughter 
San chica could not restrain her tears, for pure ecstacy. 1 had 
before my eyes the suit you sent me, and the corals sent by my 
lady duchess about my neck, and the letters in my hands, and the 
bearer of them present; and, for all that, I believed and thought all 
I saw and touched was a dream ; for, who could imagine that a 
goatherd should come to be a governor of islands ? You know, 
friend, my mother used to say that one must live long to see much. 
I say this because I think to see more if I live longer ; I never 
expect to stop till I see you a farmer-general or a collector of the 
customs, offices in which, though the devil carries away him that 
abuses them, one is always taking and fingering of money. My 
lady duchess will tell you how I long to go to court. Consider of 
this, and let me know your mind ; I will strive to do you credit 
there, by riding in a coach. 

" The curate, the barber, the bachelor, and even the sacristan, 
cannot believe you are a governor, and say that is all delusion, or 
matter of enchantment, like all the rest of your master Don Quix- 
ote's affairs. Sampson says he will find you out and take this 
government out of your head, and Don Quixote's madness out 
of his skull. I only laugh, and look upon my string of corals, 
and contrive how to make my daughter a gown of the suit 


you sent me. I sent my lady duchess a parcel of acorns, and I 
wish they had been gold. Pr'ythee, send me some necklaces of 
pearl, if they are in fashion in your island. The news of this town 
is that the Barrueca is about marrying her daughter to a sorry 
painter, who is come to this town to paint whatever should offer. 
The magistrates ordered him to paint the king's arms over the gate 
of the town-house ; he demanded two ducats, which they paid him 
beforehand, and he worked eight days, at the end of which he made 
nothing of it ; he said he could not hit upon painting such trum- 
pery. He returned the money, and, for all that, he marries under 
the title of a good workman. It is true he has already quitted the 
pencil and taken the spade, and goes to the field like a gentleman. 
Pedro Lobo's son has taken orders and shaven his crown, in order 
to be a priest. Minguilla, Mingo Silvato's niece, has heard of it, 
and is suing him upon a promise of marriage. Evil tongues do 
not stick to say she is with child by him ; but he denies it with 
both hands. We have had no olives this year, nor is there a drop 
of vinegar to be had in all this town. A company of foot-soldiers 
passed through here ; by the way, they carried off three girls. I 
will not tell you who they are ; perhaps they will return, and 
somebody or other will not fail to marry them with all their faults. 
Sanchica makes bone-lace ; she gains eight maravedis a-day, which 
she drops into a till-box to help towards household stuff; but, 
now that she is a governor's daughter, you will give her a fortune, 
and she need not work for it. The fountain in our market-place is 
dried up, and a thunder-bolt fell upon the gallows ; there may 
they all light. I expect an answer to this, and your resolution 
about my going to court. Now, may God keep you more years 
than myself, or as many, for I would not willingly leave you in 

this world behind me. 

" Your Wife, 

" Teresa Panza." 


The letters caused much laughter, applause, esteem and admira- 
tion. To put the seal to the whole, arrived the courier who 
brought that which Sancho sent to Don Quixote, which was also 
publicly read ; but this occasioned the governor's simplicity to be 
matter of doubt. The duchess retired to learn of the page what 
had befallen him in Sancho's village, and the page related the whole 
very particularly, without leaving a circumstance unrecited. He gave 
the duchess the acorns, and also a cheese, which Teresa gave him 
for a very good one, even better than those of Tronchon. The 
duchess received it vdth great satisfaction, and now we will leave 
them in high good humour to relate how ended the government of 
the great Sancho Panza, the flow^er and mirror of all insulary 





|0* ALMLY to think tliat, in this life, the 

._^.___^^^||g|^^5,i^^i^A^ things thereof will continue always 

^ ^ ^9}^ ^^^^S^^ '' ^ in the same state, is a vain expecta- 

" ^^^^y^Ii^^^ ^^^^^ tion. On the contrary, the whole^^a^^ -jglL 3=^:^ seems to be going round, I mean in 

a circle. The spring is succeeded by the summer, the summer by 
the autumn, the autumn by the winter, and the winter by the 
spring again ; and thus time rolls round with a continual wheel. 
Human life only posts to its goal, and, swifter than time itself, 
without hope of renewal, unless in the next, which is limited by 
no bounds. This is the reflection of Cid Hamet, the Mahometan 
philosopher ; for finally, many, without the light of faith and 
merely by natural instinct, have discovered the transitory and un- 
stable condition of the present life, and the eternal duration of that 
which is to come. But here our author speaks with respect to the 
swiftness with which Sancho's government ended, perished, dis- 
solved and vanished into smoke and shadow. 

Sancho being in bed the seventh night of the days of his govern- 
ment, not satiated with bread nor wine, but with sitting in judg- 
ment, deciding causes and promulgating pragmatics, and sleep, in 
spite of hunger, beginning to close his eye-lids, he heard so great a 
noise of bells and voices, tliat he verily thought the whole island 
had been sinking. He sat up in bed, and listened attentively to 



guess at the cause of so great an uproar. But so far was he from 
guessing, that, the din of an infinite number of trumpets and drimis 
joining the noise of the bells and voices, he was in greater confusion 
and more fear and dread than at first. Jumping hastily ofí" his bed, 
he slipped on his slippers, because of the dampness of the fioor, 
and, without putting on his night-gown, or anything like it, he 
went out at his chamber-door. Instantly he perceived more than 


2 S 



twenty persons coming along a gallery with lighted torches in their 
hands and their swords drawn, all crying aloud : " Arm, arm, my 
lord governor, arm ! an infinite number of enemies have entered 
the island, and we are undone if your conduct and valour do not 
succour us." With this noise and uproar they came where Sancho 
stood, astonished and stupified with what he heard and saw. When 
they were come up to him, one of them said, " Make haste to arm 
yourself, my lord, unless you would be ruined, and the whole island 
with you." — " What have I to do with arming," replied Sancho, 
" who know nothing of arms or succours ? It were better to leave 
these matters to my master Don Quixote, who will despatch them 
and secure us in a trice. But, sinner that I am, I understand 
nothing at all of these hurly-burlies." — *' Alack, signor governor," 
cried another, " what faint-heartedness is this ? Hasten to arm 
yourself, sir, for here we bring you weapons offensive and defensive, 
and come forth to the market-place, and be our leader and our 
captain, since you ought to be so, as being our governor." — " Arm 
me then, in Heaven's name," replied Sancho. 

Instantly they brought him a couple of old targets, which they 
had purposely provided, and clapped them over his shirt, not suf- 
fering him to put on any other garment, the one before and the 
other behind. They thrust his arms through certain holes they 
had made in them, and tied them well with cord, insomuch that he 
remained walled and boarded up straight like a spindle, without 
being able to bend his knees or walk one single step. They put a 
lance into his hand, upon which he leaned, to keep himself upon 
his feet. Thus accoutred they desired him to march and lead and 
encourage them all, as he being their north-pole, their lantern, and 
their morning star, their affairs could not fail to have a prosperous 
issue. " How should I march ? wretch that I am," answered 
Sancho, "when I cannot stir my knee-pans? for I am hindered by 
these boards, which press so close and hard upon my flesh. Your 
only way is, to carry me in your arms, and lay me athwart or set 
me upright at some postern ; I will maintain it either with my 
lance or my body." — " Fie, signor governor," cried another, " it is 
more fear than the targets that hinders your marching. Have 


done, for shame, and bestir yourself, for it is late, the enemy in- 
creases, the cry grows louder and the danger becomes more urgent. 

At these persuasions and reproaches the poor governor tried to stir ; 
but it was oidy to fall down with such violence, that he thought he 
had dashed himself to pieces. He lay like a tortoise enclosed and 
covered with his shell, or like a ñitch of bacon between two trays, 
or lik(; a boat with the keel upw¿irds upon the sand, 'J'hough they 



saw him fall, the jesting rogues had not the least compassion on 
him ; on the contrary, putting out their torches, they reinforced 

the clamour and reiterated the alarm, with such hurry and bustle, 
trampling over poor Sancho, and giving him an hundred thwacks 
upon the targets, that, if he had not gathered himself up and 
shrunk in his head between the bucklers, it had gone hard with 
the poor governor, who, crumpled up in that narrow compass^ 
sweated and sweated again, and recommended himself to God from 
the bottom of his heart to deliver him from that danger. Some 
stumbled, others fell over him ; and one there was who, getting a- 
top of him installed himself there for a good while; thence, as 
from a watch-tower, he commanded the troops, and cried in a loud 
voice. " This way, brave boys ; here the enemy charges thickest ; 
guard that postern ; shut yon gate ; down with those scaling- 
ladders : this way with your cauldrons of resin, pitch and burning 
oil ; barricado the streets with wool-packs." In short, he named, 
in the utmost hurry, all the necessary implements and engines of 



war, used in defence of a city assaulted. The poor battered Sancho, 
who, trampled under foot, heard and bore all, said to himself: "O! 
if it were Heaven's good pleasure that this island were once lost, 
and I could see myself either dead or out of this great strait ! " 
Heaven heard his petition: and, when he least expected it, he 
heard voices crying : " Victory, Victory ! the enemy is routed ! 
Rise, signor governor; enjoy the conquest and divide the spoils 
taken from the foe by the valour of that invincible arm." — " Let 
me be lifted up," said the dolorous Sancho, with a doleful voice. 
They helped him to rise, and, when he was got upon his legs, he 
said : " May all the enemies I have vanquished be nailed to my 




forehead. I will divide no spoils of enemies, but entreat and 
beseech some friend, if I have any, to give me a draught of wine, 
for I am almost choked, and dry up this sweat, for I am melting 
away into water." They rubbed him down ; they brought him 
wine ; they untied the target ; he sat down upon his bed, and 
swooned with the fright, surprise and fatigue he had undergone. 

Those who had played him the trick began to be sorry they had 
laid it on so thick; but Sancho's coming to himself moderated the 
pain they were in at his fainting away. He asked what o'clock it 
was ; they told him it was day-break. He held his peace ; and 
without saying anything more began to dress himself, keeping the 
profoundest silence. They all stared at him, in expectation what 
would be the issue of his dressing himself in such haste. He at 
last finished dressing himself ; and by little and little (for he was 
so bruised he could not do it hastily), he took the way to the stable, 
every body present following him. Approaching Dapple, he em- 
braced him, and gave him a kiss of peace on the forehead : and not 

without tears in his eyes, he said : " Come hither, my companion, 
my friend, and partner in my fatigues and miseries. When I con- 
sorted with thee, and had no other thoughts but the care of mending 


thy furniture and feeding thy little carcase, happy were my hours, 
my days and my years. But, since I forsook thee and mounted 
upon the towers of ambition and pride, a thousand miseries, a thou- 
sand toils, and four thousand disquiets, have entered into my soul." 
While he was talking thus, Sancho went on pannelling his ass, 
without anybody's saying a word to him. Dapple being pannelled 
he got upon him with great pain and heaviness, and, directing his 
speech to the steward, the secretary, the sewer, doctor Pedro Recio 
and many others that were present, he said : "Give way, gentlemen, 
and suffer me to return to my ancient liberty ; suffer me to seek my 
past life, that I may rise again from this present death. I was not 
born to be a governor, nor to defend islands or cities from enemies 
that assault them. I better understand how to plough and dig, 
how to prune and dress vines, than how to give laws and defend . 
provinces or kingdoms. Saint Peter is well at Rome ; I mean that 
"notliing becomes a man so well as the employment he was born for. 
In my hand a sickle is better than a governor's sceptre. I had • 
rather have my stomach full of my own onion porridge than be 
subject to the misery of an impertinent physician who kills me with 
hunger ; I had rather lay myself down under the shade of an oak 
in summer and equip myself with a double sheep-skin jerkin in 
winter, at my liberty, than lie, under the slavery of a government, 
between holland sheets and be clothed in sables. Gentlemen, God 
be with you, and tell my lord duke that naked was I born, naked I 
am ; I neither win nor lose : I mean that without a penny came I 
to this government, and without a penny do I quit it, the direct 
reverse of governors of other islands. Give way and let me pass ; 
let me begone to plaster myself, for I verily believe all my ribs are 
broken, thanks to the enemies who have been trampling upon me 
all night long." — " It must not be so, signor governor," cried doc- 
tor Pedro Recio ; " I will give your lordship a drink, good against 
falls and bruises, that shall presently restore you to your former 
health and vigour. As to the eating part, I give you my word I 
will amend that, and let you eat abundantly of whatever you have 
a mind to." — " You puke too late ^^^," answered Sancho ; " I will 
»» Tarde piache (for piaste), is a proverbial phrase which originated as follows ; 


as soon stay as turn Turk. Nay, nay, these are not tricks to be 
played twice. Before God, 1 will no more continue in this, nor 
accept of any other government, though it were served up to me in 
a covered dish, than I will fly to Heaven without wings. I am of 
the race of the Panzas, who are all headstrong ; and if they once 
cry no, no it shall be in spite of all the world ^^^. In this stable 
let the pismire's wings remain, that raise me up in the air, to be 
exposed a prey to martlets and other small birds ^^^. Return we to 
walk upon plain ground, with a plain foot, and if it be not adorned 
with pinked Cordovan shoes, it will not want for hempen sandals ^^^ 
Every sheep with its like, and stretch not your feet beyond your 
sheet, and so let me begone, for it grows late." 

The steward said : " Signor governor, we will let your lordship 
depart with all our hearts, though we shall be very sorry to lose 
you, for your judgment and christian procedure oblige us to desire 
your presence ; but you know that every governor is bound, before 
he leaves the place he has governed, to dwell out his residence ^^^. 
When your lordship has rendered account of the ten days you have 
held the government, you shall depart, and God's peace be with 
you." — " Nobody can require this of me," answered Sancho, " but 
whom my lord duke shall appoint. To him I am going, and to him 
it shall be given exactly. Besides, departing naked as I do, there 
needs surely no other proof of my having governed like an angel." 
— " Before Heaven, the great Sancho is in the right," cried doctor 
Pedro Recio ; " and I am of opinion we should let him go, for the 
duke will be infinitely glad to see him." \ 

They all consented, and suffered him to depart, offering first to 

bear him company, and to furnish everything he desired for the use 

of his person and the conveniency of his journey. Sancho said he 

it is related that a student, eating boiled eggs, swallowed one so stale, that the 
chicken was already formed in it ; he heard it cry as it passed down his throat, 
and contented himself vfith. saying gravely : ** Vou puke too late." 

^^^ There is in this passage an untranslatable jeu de mots on nones, which means 
not pairs and no in the plural, and pares, peers. 

^^^ In allusion to the proverb : The ant received wings and the birds ate them up. 

5^* Alpargatas, the ordinary covering of the legs and feet of the Spanish peasantry. 

'^^2 In Spain and America, the viceroys, governors and financial agents are obliged, 
on quitting their employment, to reside a certain time to make up their accounts. 



desired only a little barley for his ass, and half a cheese and half a 
loaf for himself; as, since the way was so short, he stood in need of 
nothing more, nor any other provision. They all embraced him> 
and he, weeping, embraced them again, and left them in admiration 
as well at his discourse as at his so resolute and discreet deter- 







N order to see how the adventure would 
end, the duke and duchess resolved that Don 
Quixote's challenge of their vassal for 
the cause mentioned should go forward; 
and though the young man was in 
Flanders, whither he was fled to avoid 
having Donna Rodriguez for his mother- 
in-law, they gave orders for putting in his 
' ^ place a Grascon lacquey, called Tosilos, 

instructing him previously in every thing he was to do. About 
two days after, tbe duke told Don Quixote that his opponent would 
be there in four days, and present himself in the lists armed as a 
knight, and would maintain that the damsel lied by half the beard, 
and even by the whole beard, if she said he had given her a 
promise of marriage. Don Quixote was highly delighted with the 
news, and promised himself to do wonders upon the occasion, 
esteeming it a special happiness that an opportunity offered of 
demonstrating to their grandeurs how far the valour of his puissant 
arm extended. Therefore with pleasure and satisfaction he 

PART II. — CHAP. LIV. 331 

waited the four days, which, in the account of his impatience, were 
four hundred ages. Let us let them pass, as we let pass many 
other things, and attend upon Sancho, who, between glad and sorry, 
was making the best of his way upon Dapple towards his master, 
whose company he preferred to being governor of all the islands in 
the world. 

Now, he had not gone far from the island of his government, for 
he never gave himself the trouble to determine whether it was an island, 
city, town or village, that he governed, when he saw coming along the 
road six pilgrims with their staves, being of those foreigners who 
ask alms singing. And as they drew near to him, these pilgrims 
placed themselves in a row, and raising their voices all together, 
began to sing in their language what Sancho could not understand ; 
only one word, which they distinctly pronounced, he knew to 
signify alms, whence he concluded that alms were what they begged 
in their songs; as he was, according to Cid Hamet, extremely 
charitable, he took the half loaf and half cheese out of his wallet 
and gave it them, making signs to them that he had nothing else to 
give them. They received it very willingly and cried : " Guelt, 
Guelt ^63." — <« I ¿Q not understand you," answered Sancho ; " what 
is it you would have, good people ? " Then one of them pulled out 
of his bosom a purse, and shewed it Sancho, whence he understood 
that they asked for money. But Sancho, putting his thumb to his 
throat and extending his hand upward, gave them to understand he 
had not a penny of money, and spurring his ass, he broke through 
them. But, as he passed by, one of them who had viewed him 
with much attention, caught hold of him, and throwing his arms 
about his waist, with a loud voice and in very good Castilian, 
cried : " God be my aid ! what is it I see ? Is it possible I have in 
my arms my dear friend and good neighbour Sancho Panza ? Yes, 
certainly I have, for I am neither asleep nor drunk." Sancho was 
surprised to hear himself called by his name, and to find himself 
embraced by the stranger pilgrim. He viewed him earnestly a 
good while, without speaking a word, but he could not call him to 
mind. The pilgrim perceiving his suspense, said : *' How ! is it 
•** From the German word ghelt, which mean» silver. 



possible, brother Sancho Panza, you do not know your neighbour 
Ricote, the Morisco shop-keeper of your village ? " Then Sancho, 
observing him more attentively, began to recollect him, and at last 
remembered him perfectly. Without alighting from his beast, he 

threw his arms about his neck, and said : " Who the devil, Ricote, 
should know you in this disguise ? Tell me, how came you so French- 
ified ? and how dare you venture to return to Spain, where, if you are 
known and caught, it will fare but ill with you." — " If you do not 
discover me, Sancho," answered the pilgrim, " I am safe enough, 
for in this garb nobody can know me ; but let us go out of the 
road to yonder poplar grove, where my comrades have a mind to 
dme and take their siesta. You shall eat with them, for they are a 
very good sort of people, and I shall have an opportunity to tell 
you vvliat has befallen me since I departed from our village, in 
obedience to his majesty's proclamation, which so rigorously 

PART II. — CHAP. LIV. 333 

threatened the miserable people of our nation, as you must have 
heard ^e^" 

Sancho consented, and Ricote having spoken to the rest of the 
pilgrims, they tui-ned aside towards the poplar grove, vi^hich they 
saw at a distanc?, far enough out of the high road. They flung down 
their staves, and, putting off their pilgrim's weeds, remained in 
their jackets. They were all genteel young fellows, excepting 
Ricote, who was pretty well advanced in years. They all carried 
wallets, which, as appeared afterwards, were well provided with 
provocatives, calculated to incite to thirst at two leagues distance. 
They laid themselves along on the ground, and making the grass 
their table-cloth, they spread their bread, salt, knives, nuts, slices 
of cheese and clean bones of gammon of bacon, which, if they 
would not bear picking, did not forbid being sucked. They 
produced also a kind of black ragout called cabial, made of the roes 
of fish, a great awakener of thirst. There wanted not olives, 
though dry, and without any sauce, yet savoury and well preserved. 
But, what carried the palm in this banquet was six skins of wine, 
each producing one out of his wallet. Even honest Ricote, who 

*** Cervantes speaks, in this chapter, of the most important of the events that 
he witnessed, the expulsion of the Moors. Subsequent to the capitulation of 
Grenada, in 1492, a number of Moors, still mussulmans, remained in Spain. But 
the missions that were deputed amongst them were soon succeeded by persecutions ; 
and finally a decree of Charles V., dated the 4th April, 1525, commanded all Moors 
to receive baptism under pain of banishment. The christians converted by force 
were thenceforth called Moriscos, by which name they were distinguished from the 
old christians. In the reign of Philip II., more than this abjuration was exacted : in 
1556, they were forbidden by n pragmatic the use of their own language, costume, 
ceremonies, slaves, baths, and even their names. These tyrannical measures, put in 
practice with merciless rigour, provoked the long revolt known as the Rebellion of the 
Moors, which held in check all Philip II. 's power, and was only quelled in 1570, by 
the victories of Don Juan of Austria. The conquered Moriscos were dispersed over 
all the Provinces of the Peninsula; but the fallen race continuing to increase and 
prosper through persevering industry, political reasons were found for frightening 
those who were not sufficiently affected by the religious fanaticism let loose against 
them. An edict of Philip III., decreed in 1609, and executed the following year, 
commanded the total expulsion of the Moriscos. From twelve to fifteen thousand 
of the unfortunate race were driven from Spain, and the few who survived this 
horrible persecution sought refuge in foreign lands under concealed origins. Thus 
Spain, already depopulated by emigrations to America, deprived herself (like France 
at a later period by the revocation of the edict of Nantes) of her most industrious 
inhabitants, who went to swell the troops of Barbary pirates with which her coasts 
were infested. (Vide Essai sur VHistoire des Árabes et de» Mores d'Espagne, appendix 
to Vol. II.) Notwithstanding the guarded expressions of Cervantes, it is easy to see 
that ail his sympathy is on the side of the oppressed people. 



had transformed himself from a Moor into a German or Dutchman, 
pulled out his, which for bigness might vie with the other five. 
Now they began to eat with the highest relish and much at their 
leisure, dwelling upon the taste of every bit they took upon the 
point of a knife, and very little of each thing. Soon after, they 
all together lifted up their arms and their bottles into the air, 
mouth applied to mouth, and their eyes nailed to heaven, as if they 
were taking aim at it ; in this posture, waving their heads from 
side to side in token of the pleasure they received, they continued 
a good while, transfusing the entrails of the skins into their own 
stomachs. Sancho beheld all this, and was nothing grieved 
thereat. On the contrary, in compliance with the proverb he very 
well knew : When you are at Rome, do as they do at Rome, he 
demanded of Ricote the bottle, and took his aim as the others had 
done, and with not less relish. Four times the skins bore being 
caressed ; but for the fifth, it was not to be done ; for they were 
now as empty and as dry as a rush, vC'hich struck a damp upon the 
mirth they had hitherto shewn. One or other of them, from time 
to time, would take Sancho by the right hand and say : " Espagnoli 
y tudesqui, tuto uno bon compagno.'' And Sancho would answer : 
" Bon compagno, jura Di.'' Then he burst out into a fit of 
laughter which held him an hour, without his remembering at that 
time anything of what had befallen him in his government; for 
cares have commonly but very little jurisdiction over the time that 
is spent in eating and drinking. Finally, the making an end of the 
wine was the beginning of a sound sleep which seized them all, 
upon their very board and table-cloth. Only Ricote and Sancho 
remained awake, having drunk less, though eaten more, than the 
rest. They two, going aside, sat them down at the foot of a beech, 
leaving the pilgrims buried in a sweet sleep, and Ricote, laying 
aside his Morisco, said what follows in pure Castilian : 

" You well know, O Sancho, my neighbour and friend, how the 
proclamation and edict which his majesty commanded to be 
published against those of my nation struck a dread and terror into 
us all. At least into me it" did, in such sort, that methought the 
rigour of the penalty was already executed upon me and my 


children before the time limited for our departure from Spain. T 
provided therefore, as I thought, like a wise man who, knowing that 
at such a time the house he lives in will be taken from him, secures 
another to remove to ; I say I left our town alone and without my 
family, to find out a place whither I might conveniently carry 
them, without that hurry in which the rest went away. In effect, 
I well saw, as did all the wisest among us, that those proclamations 
were not bare threatenings, as some pretended they were, but 
effectual laws and such as would be put in execution at the 
appointed time. What confirmed me in the belief of this was my 
knowing the mischievous extravagant designs of our people, which 
were such that, in my opinion, it was a divine inspiration that 
moved his majesty to put so brave a resolution in practice. Not 
that we were all culpable, for some of us were steady and true 
Christians ; but these were so few that they could not be compared 
with those that were otherwise, and it is not prudent to nourish a 
serpent in one's bosom, by keeping one's enemies within doors. 
In short, we were justly punished with the sentence of banishment, 
a soft and mild one in the opinion of some, but to us the most 
terrible that can be inflicted. Wherever we are, we weep for 
Spain; for, in short, here were we born, and this is our native 
country. We nowhere find the reception our misfortunes require. 
Even in Barbary and all other parts of Africa, where we expected 
to be received, cherished and made much of, there it is we are most 
neglected and misused. We knew not our happiness till we lost 
it ; and so great is the desire almost all of us have to return to 
Spain, that most of those, and they are not a few, who can speak 
the language like myself, forsake their wives and children and 
come back again, so violent is the love they bear it ! Now I know 
by experience the truth of the common saying that * sweet is the 
love of one's country.' I went away, as I said, from our town; I 
entered into France, and though there I met with a good 
reception, I had a desire to see other countries. I went into Italy, 
and thence into Germany, and there I thought we might live more 
at liberty, the natives not standing much upon niceties, and every 
one living as he pleases, for, in most parts of it, there is liberty of 



conscience. I took a house in a village near Augsburgh, but soon 
left it and joined company with these pilgrims, who come in great 

numbers every year into Spain to visit its holy places, which they 
look upon as their Indies, and a certain gain and sure profit. 
They travel almost the kingdom over, and there is not a village but 
they are sure of getting meat and drink in it and a real at least 
in money. At the end of their journey they go off with above a 
hundred crowns clear, which, being changed into gold, they carry 
out of the kingdom, either in the hollow of their staves, or in the 
patches of their weeds, or by some other slight they are masters of, 


and get safe into their own country, in spite of all the officers and 
searchers of the passes and ports where money is registered ^^^^ 
Now, my design, Sancho, is to carry off the treasure I left buried, 
(it being without the town I can do it with the less danger,) and to 
write or go over to my wife and daughter, who I know are in 
Algiers, and contrive how to bring them to some port of France, 
and thence carry them into Germany, where we vidll wait and see 
how God will be pleased to dispose of us. I know for certain 
that Ricota, my daughter, and Francisca Ricote, my wife, are 
Catholic Christians, and, though I am not altogether such, yet I am 
more of the Christian than the Moor ; and I constantly pray to 
God to open the eyes of my understanding, and make me know in 
what manner I ought to serve him. But what I wonder at is that 
my wife and daughter should rather go into Barbary than into 
France, where they might have lived as Christians." 

" Look you, Ricote," answered Sancho, " that perhaps was not 
at their choice, because Juan Tiopeyio, your wife's brother, who 
carried them away, being a rank Moor, would certainly go where 
he thought it best to stay. I can tell you another thing, which is 
that I believe it is in vain for you to look for the money you left 
buried, because we had news that your brother-in-law and your 
wife had abundance of pearls and a great deal of money in gold 
taken from them, as not having been registered."—-" That may be," 
replied Ricote ; " but I am sure, Sancho, they did not touch my 
hoard, for I never discovered it to them, fearing some mischance. 
Therefore, Sancho, if you will go along with me and help me to 
carry it off and conceal it, I will give you two hundred crowns, 
with which you may relieve your wants ; for you know I am not 
ignorant that they are many." — '* I would do it," answered Sancho, 
** but that I am not at all covetous ; had I been so, T quitted an 

•** Another writer contemporary with Cervantes, Cristoval de Herrera, had said 

a few years earlier : " We must hinder the French and Germans from 

travelling through these kingdoms and taking away our money, for all the people of 
this kind and of this habit do carry it away. It is said that in France parents 
promise for dowry for their daughters what they shall bring back from their journey 
to Saint James of Compostella, there and back, as if they were going a voyage to 
the Indies." (Amparo de pobre».) 

VOL. III. 2 U 


employment this very morning out of which I could have made the 
walls of my house of gold, and, before six months had been at an 
end, have eaten in plate. For this reason, and because I think I 
should betray my king by favouring his enemies, I will not go with 
you, though, instead of two hundred crowns, you should lay me 
down four hundred upon the nail." — " And what employment is it 
you have quitted, Sancho?" demanded Ricote. "I left being 
governor of an island," answered Sancho, " and such an one as, in 
faith, you will scarcely meet with its fellow within three leagues." — 
" And where is this island ? " demanded Ricote. " Where ! " 
answered Sancho ; " two leagues from hence, and it is called the 
island of Barataría." — " Peace, Sancho," rejoined Ricote, *' islands 
are out at sea, and there are no islands on the main land." — " No !" 
replied Sancho ; " I tell you, friend Ricote, that I left it this very 
morning, and yesterday I was in it, governing at my pleasure, like 
a Sagittarius. But, for all that, I quitted it, looking upon the 
office of governor to be a very dangerous thing." — " And what 
have you got by the government ? " asked Ricote. " I have got," 
answered Sancho, " this experience, to know I am fit to govern 
nothing but a herd of cattle, and that the riches got in such 
governments are got at the expense of one's ease and sleep, yea, 
and of one's sustenance ; for, in islands, governors eat but little, 
especially if they have physicians to look after their health." — " I 
understand you not, Sancho," said Ricote ; " and all you say seems 
to me extravagant. Who the devil should give you islands to 
govern ? Are there wanting men in the world abler than you are 
to be governors ? Hold your peace, Sancho, recall your senses and 
consider whether you will go along with me, as I said, to help me 
take up the treasure I left buried, for, in truth, it may very well 
be called a treasure. I wall give you wherewithal to live, as I have 
already told you." — " And I have told you, Ricote," replied Sancho, 
" that I will not ; be satisfied that I will not discover you, and go 
your way in God's name, and let me go mine, for I know the 
proverb : * What is well got may meet with disaster, and what is ill 
got destroys both itself and its master.' " — " I will not urge you 
farther, Sancho," rejoined Ricote ; " but, tell me, were you in our 

PART ir. — GHAP. LIV. 


town when my wife and daughter and my brother-in-law went away ?" 
— " Was I ? ay," answered Sancho, " and I can tell you that your 
daughter went away so beautiful that all the town went out to see 

her, and every body said she was the finest creature in the world. 
She went away weeping, and embraced all her friends and acquaint- 
ance and all that came to see her, and desired them all to 
recommend her to God and to our Lady his mother. And this so 
feelingly, that she made me weep, who am no great whimperer. 
In faith, many had a desire to conceal her, or to go and take her 
away upon the road ; but the fear of transgressing the king's 



command restrained them. Don Pedro Gregorio ^^, the rich heir, 
you know, shewed himself the most affected, and they said he was 
passionately in love with her. In point of fact, since she went 
away, he has never been seen in the village, and we all think he 
followed to steal her away. But, hitherto, nothing farther is 
known." — " I always suspected," said Ricote, " that this gentleman 
was smitten with my daughter ; but, trusting to the virtue of my 
Ricota, it gave me no trouble to find he was in love with her ; for 
you must have heard, Sancho, that the Moorish women seldom or 
never mingle in love with old Christians ; and my daughter who, as 
I believe, minded religion more than love, little regarded this rich 
heir's courtship." — " God grant it," replied Sancho ; "for it would 
be very ill for them both. But let me begone, friend Ricote ; I 
intend to be to-night with my master Don Quixote." — " May God 
be with you, brother Sancho," said Ricote; "my comrades are 
stirring, and it is time for us also to be on our way." And then 
they embraced each other ; Sancho mounted his ass, Ricote handled 
his pilgrim's staif, and they parted. 

566 Farther on he is called Don Gaspar Gregorio. 





ATE as oancno staid with Kicote, he 
had not time to reach the duke*s 
castle that day, though he was 
arrived within half a league of it 
when the night, somewhat dark and 
close, overtook him. But, it being 
summer-time, it gave him no great 
concern. Only he struck out of the 
road, purposing to wait for the morn- 
ing. But his ill luck would have it 
that, in seeking a place where he 
might best accommodate himself, he 
and his beast fell together into a 
very deep, dark pit, among some ruins of old buildings. As he was 
falling, he recommended himself to God with his whole hearty not 
expecting to stop till he came to the depth of the abyss. But it fell 
out otherwise ; for, a little beyond three fathoms, the donkey felt 
ground, and Sancho found himself on his back witliout having 


received any damage. He began feeling his body all over, and 
held his breath to see if he were sound, or bored through in any 
part. Finding himself well, whole and in catholic health, he 
thought he could never give sufficient thanks to God for the mercy 
extended to him, for he verily believed he had been beaten into a 
thousand pieces. He felt also with his hands about the sides of 
the pit, to see if it were possible to get out without help ; but he 
found them all smooth, and without any hold or footing. At this 
discovery Sancho was much grieved, especially when he heard his 
ass groan most tenderly and sadly : and no wonder, certes, for the 
poor beast did not lament out of wantonness, being all the worse 
for his fall. "Alas!" cried Sancho Panza, "what unexpected 
accidents perpetually befal those who live in this miserable world ! 
Who could have thought that he who yesterday saw himself 
enthroned a governor of an island, commanding his servants and 
his vassals, should to-day find himself buried in a pit, without any- 
body to help him, without servant or vassal to come to his assistance ? 
Here must I and my ass perish with hunger, unless we die first, 
he of his bruises and I of grief. At least, I shall not be so happy 
as my master Don Quixote de la Mancha was, when he descended 
and went down into the cavern of the enchanted Montesinos, where 
he met with better entertainment than in his own house, insomuch 
that it seems he found the cloth laid and the bed made. There 
saw he beautiful and pleasant visions ; and here I shall see, I 
suppose, toads and snakes. Unfortunate that I am! What are 
my follies and imaginations come to? Hence shall my bones be . 
taken up, when it shall please God that I am found, clean, white 
and bare, and with them those of my trusty Dapple, whence 
perhaps it will be conjectured who we were, at least by those who 
have been informed that Sancho Panza never parted from his ass, 
nor his ass from Sancho Panza. Miserable we, I repeat, since our 
ill-luck would not sufier us to die in our own country and among 
our friends, where, though our misfortunes had found no remedy, 
there would not have been wanting some to regret them, and, at our 
last gasp, to close our eyes ! O my companion, my friend, how ill 
have I repaid thy good services ! Forgive me and beg of fortune. 



in the best manner thou art able, to bring us out of this miserable 
calamity in which we are both involved. I promise to put a crown 
of laurel upon thy head, that thou may est look like a poet-laureate, 
and to double thy allowance." 


Thus lamented Sancho Panza, and his beast listened to him 
without answering one word, such was the distress and anguish 
the poor creature was in. Finally, having passed all that night in 
sad lamentations and complainings, the day came on, by the first 
rays of which Sancho perceived it was of all impossibilities the 
most impossible to get out of the pit without help. Then he 
began to lament, and to cry out aloud to try if anybody could hear 
him. But all his cries were in the desert ; for there was not a 
creature in all those parts witliin honring. Then he gave himself 


over for dead. The donkey lay with his mouth upwards ; Sancho 

Panza contrived to get him upon his legs, though he could scarcely 
stand ; then, pulling out of his wallet, which had also shared the for- 
tune of the fall, a piece of bread, he gave it his beast who did not 


take it amiss, and Sancho, as if the ass understood him, said : " Bread 
is relief for all kinds of grief." 

At length he discovered a hole in one side of the pit, wide 
enough for a man to creep through, stooping. Sancho Panza, 
squatting down, crept through upon all four, and found it was 
spacious and large within ; he could see about him, for a ray of 
the sun, glancing in through what might be called the roof, 
discovered it all. He saw also that it enlarged and extended itself 
into another spacious concavity. On observing this he returned 
to where he had left his ass, and with a stone began to break away 
the earth of the hole, and soon made room for his ass to pass easily 
through. He proceeded to introduce Dapple, and taking him by 
the halter, advanced forward along the cavern to see if he could 
find a way to get out on the other side. He went on, sometimes dark- 
ling, and sometimes without a light, but never without fear. "The 
Almighty be my aid," said he to himself; " this, which to me is a 
mishap, to my master Don Quixote had been an adventure. He 
would no doubt have taken these depths and dungeons for flowery 
gardens and palaces of Galiana ^^^ ; and he would have expected to 
issue out of this obscurity by some pleasant meadow. But, 
unhappy I, devoid of counsel and dejected in mind, at every step 
expect some other pit, deeper than this, to open on a sudden under my 
feet and swallow me downright. Welcome the ill that comes alone! " 

In this manner and with these thoughts, he fancied he had gone 
somewhat more than half a league ; he then discovered a glimmer- 
ing light, like that of the day, breaking in and opening an entrance 
into what seemed to him the road to the other world. 

But Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli leaves him there, and turns to treat 
of Don Quixote, who, with joy and transport, was waiting for the 
appointed day of combat with the seducer of Donna Rodriguez's 
daughter, resolving to see justice done and to take satisfaction for 
the affront and injury offered her. Now it happened that riding 
out one morning to exercise and assay himself for the business of 

'^ Galiana, according to tradition, was an Arabian princess, to whom her father 
Gadalifa erected a magnificent palace on the banks of the Tngus, at Toledo. The 
ruins in the garden del Rey arc still called (ialiana's Palace. 

vof. Ill, 2 X 



the combat he was to be engaged in within a day or two, as he was 
now reining now running Rocinante, he chanced to pitch his feet 
so near a pit, that had he not drawn the reins in very strongly 
he must inevitably have fallen into it. At last Don Quixote 
stopped him, and, getting a little nearer, without alighting, he 
viewed the chasm. But, while he was looking at it, he heard a loud 
voice within, and, listening attentively, he could distinguish that 
he who spoke from below said : " Ho, above there! is there any 
Christian that hears me, any charitable gentleman to take pity 



on a sinner buried alive, an unfortunate ex-governor?" Don Quixote 
thought he heard Sancho Panzas voice. Surprised and amazed, 
he raised his voice as high as he could, and cried : " Who is below 
there? who is it complains?" — "Who should be here, or who 


should complain," replied the voice, "but the forlorn Sancho Panza, 
governor, for his sins and for his evil-errantry, of the island of 
Barataría, and late squire of the famous knight, Don Quixote de la 
Mancha ? " 

When Don Quixote heard this, his astonishment redoubled, for 
it came into his imagination that Sancho Panza was dead, and that 
his soul was there doing penance. Carried away by this thought, 
he cried : " I conjure thee, as a Catholic Christian, to tell me who 
thou art ; if thou art a soul in purgatory, let me know what I can 
do for thee ; since it is my profession to be aiding and assisting to 
the needy of this world, I shall also be ready to aid and assist the 
distressed in the other, who cannot help themselves." — " So then," 
answered the voice, "you who speak to me are my master Don 
Quixote de la Mancha, and by the tone of the voice I am sure it 
can be nobody else." — " Don Quixote I am," replied the Knight, 
"he who professes to succour and assist the living and the dead in 
their necessities. Tell me who thou art, for thou amazest me. If 
you are my squire Sancho Panza, and chance to be dead, since the 
devils have not got you, but through the mercy of God you are in 
purgatory, our holy mother the Roman catholic church has supplica- 
tions sufficient to deliver you from the pains you are in, and I will 
solicit her in your behalf, so far as my estate will permit. Explain 
therefore without more ado, and tell me who you are." — " I vow 
to God," said the voice, " and I swear by the birth of whom your 
worship pleases, Signor Don Quixote de la Mancha, that I am your 
squire Sancho Panza, and that I never was dead in all the days of 
my life. But having left my government for causes and considera- 
tions that require more leisure to relate them, this night I fell into 
this cavern where I now ara, and with me my ass, who will not let 
me lie, by the same token he stands here by me." One would think 
the ass had understood what Sancho said, for at that instant he 
began to bray so lustily, that the whole cavern resounded. " A 
credible witness ! " cried Don Quixote : " I know that bray as well 
as if I had brought it forth, and I know your voice, my dear Sancho. 
Stay a little, and I will go to the duke's castle hard by and fetch 
people to get you out of this pit, into which your sins have 



certainly cast you." — " Pray go, for the Lord's sake," rejoined 
Sancho, " and return speedily ; I cannot long endure being buried 
alive here, and I am dying with terror." 

Don Quixote left him, and went to the castle to tell the duke 
and duchess what had befallen Sancho Panza. On hearing this, 
his hosts wondered not a little, though the}^ easily conceived how 
Sancho might fall, by the corresponding circumstance of the pit, 
which had been there time out of mind. But they could not 
imagine how he had left the government without their having 
advice of his return. Finally they sent ropes and pullies ; and, by 
dint of a great many hands and a great deal of labour, the donkey 

and Sancho were drawn out of these gloomy shades to the light of the 
A scholar seeing him, said : " Thus should all bad governors 


PART II. — CHAP. LV. 349 

come out of their governments, as this sinner comes out of the 
depth of this abyss, starved wdth hunger, wan and, I suppose, 
penniless." Sancho hearing him, said : " It is about eight or ten 
days, brother murmurer, since I entered upon the government of 
the island that was bestowed upon me, in all which time I had not 
my stomach full one hour. I was persecuted by physicians and 
had my bones broken by enemies; nor had I leisure to make 
perquisites or receive my dues ; and this being so, as it really is, 
methinks I deserved not to be packed off in this manner. But 
man proposes and God disposes ; and God knows what is best and 
fittest for every body ; as is the reason, such is the season, and let 
nobody say : * I will not drink of this water ; * for where one 
expects to meet with gammons of bacon, there are no pins to hang 
them on. God knows my mind and that is enough, and I say no 
more, though I could." — " Be not angry, Sancho, nor concerned at 
what you hear," returned Don Quixote, " for then you will never 
have done. Come but you with a safe conscience, and let people 
say what they will. You may as well think to barricado space, as 
to tie up the tongue of slander ; if a governor comes rich from his 
government, they say he has plundered it ; and if he leaves it poor, 
that he has been a good-for-nothing fool." — " I warrant," answered 
Sancho, " that for this bout they will rather take me for a fool 
than a thief." 

In such talk, and surrounded by boys and a numerous crowd of 
people, they arrived at the castle, where the duke and duchess 
already awaited in a gallery the return of Don Quixote and Sancho. 
The latter would not go up to see the duke till he had first taken 
the necessary care of his ass in the stable, saying the poor thing 
had had but an indifferent night's lodging. That done, up he 
went to see the duke and duchess, kneeling in whose presence, he 
said : " I, my lord and lady, because your grandeurs would have it 
so, without any desert of mine, went to govern your island of 
Baratarla, jnto which naked 1 entered, and which naked I have left; 
I neither win nor lose. Wliether I governed well or ill, there are 
witnesses who may say what they please. I have resolved doubts 
and pronounced sentences, all the while . ready to die with hunger, 




because doctor Pedro Recio, native of Tirteafuera, physician in 
ordinary to the island and its governors, would have it so. Enemies 
attacked us by night, and though they put us in great danger, the 
people of the island say they were delivered and gained the victory 
by the valour of my arm. According as they say true, so help 

PART IT. — CHAP. LV. 351 

them God ! In short, in this time, I have summed up the cares and 
burdens that governing brings vsdth it, and find by my account that 
my shoulders cannot bear them, that neither are they a proper 
weight for my ribs, nor arrows for my quiver. Therefore, lest 
the government should forsake me, I resolved to forsake the 
government. Yesterday morning, I left the island as I found it, 
with the same streets, houses and roofs it had before I went into it. 
I borrowed nothing of anybody nor set about making a purse ; and, 
though I thought to have made some wholesome laws, I made 
none, fearing they would not be observed, which is the same thing 
as though they were not made^^^. I quitted, I say, the island 
accompanied by nobody but my donkey. I fell into a pit, and 
went along under ground till this morning, by the light of the sun, 
I discovered a way out, though not so easy a one but that, if 
Heaven had not sent my master Don Quixote there, 1 had staid till 
the end of the world. So that, my lord duke and lady duchess, 
behold here your governor Sancho Panza, who, in ten days only 
that he held the government, has gained the experience to know 
that he would not give a farthing to be governor, not of an island 
only, but even of the whole world. This then being the case, 
kissing your honour's feet and imitating the boys at play, who cry : 
leap youy and then let me leap, I give a leap out of the government, 
and again pass over to the service of my master Don Quixote ; for, 
after all, though with him I eat my bread in bodily fear, at least I 
have my inside full ; and for my part, so that be well filled, all is one to 
me whether it be with carrots or partridges." 

Here Sancho ended his long speech, Don Quixote fearing all the 
while he would utter a thousand extravagancies; and when he 
saw him end with so few, he inwardly returned thanks to 
Heaven. The duke cordially embraced Sancho, and assured him 
that it grieved him to the soul he had left the government so soon, 

*«" We have here a kind of contradiction to the end of Chap. LI., vrhere we are 
told that the inhabitants of the Island of Barataría still observe the Constitutions of the 
Great Governor Sancho Panza. But doubtless Cervantes was unable to resist the 
impulse to launch an epigram against the Spanish government, which at tliat time 
formed several laws and ordinances that it was unable to put in force. 



l)ut adding that he would take care he should have some other 
employment in his territories, of less trouble and more profit. 
The duchess also embraced him, and ordered that he should be 
made much of, for he seemed to be sorely bruised and in wretched 



k '•: : ;'>^:Wi/\ \\ 







%.:- - 

X/c»« fCjéUfic <^\^ 

the end, the duke and duchess repented not of the jest put 
Sancho Panza, in relation to the government they had given 
especially since their steward came home that very day, and 





them a punctual relation of almost all the words and actions 
Sancho had said and done during that time. In fine, he exag- 
gerated the assault of the island, with Sancho's fright and departure ; 
at which they were not a little pleased. 

After this, the history relates that the appointed day of combat 
came. The duke, having over and over again instructed his 
lacquey Tosilos how he should behave towards Don Quixote, so 
as to overcome him without killing or wounding him, commanded 
that the iron heads should be taken off their lances, telling Don 
Quixote that Christianity, upon which he valued himself, did not 
allow that this battle should be fought with so much peril and 
hazard of their lives ; and that the combatants should be content with 
his giving them fair field in his territories, though in opposition to 
the decree of the holy council of Trent, which prohibits such 
challenges, without pushing the affair to the utmost extremity. 
Don Quixote replied that his excellency might dispose matters 
relating to this business as he liked best, for he would obey him 
in every thing. 

The dreadful day at last came. The duke had commanded a 
spacious scaffold to be erected before the court of the castle for the 
judges of the field and the two duennas, mother and daughter, 
appellants. An infinite number of people, from all the neighbour- 
ing towns and villages, flocked to see the novelty of this combat, 
the like having never been heard of in that country, neither by the 
living nor the dead. 

The first who entered the pale of the field was the master of the 
ceremonies, who examined the ground and walked it all over, 
that there might be no foul play, nor anything covered, to occasion 
stumbling or falling. Then entered the duenna and her daughter, 
and took their seats, covered with veils to their eyes, and even to 
their breasts, with tokens of no small concern. Don Quixote 
presented himself in the lists. Awhile after appeared, on one side 
of the place, accompanied by many trumpets and mounted upon 
a puissant steed, making the earth shake under him, the great 
lacquey Tosilos, his vizor down and his body quite stiffened with 
strong and shining armour. The horse seemed to be a Friselander ; 


he had an expansive chest, and was a flea-bitten grey in colour. 
The valorous combatant came vv^ell instructed by the duke his 
lord how to behave towards the valorous Don Quixote de la 
Mancha. He was cautioned in no wise to hurt him ; but, on the 
contrary, to endeavour to shun the first onset, to avoid the danger 
of his owTi death, which must be inevitable, should he encounter 
him full butt. Tosilos traversed the lists ; and, coming where the 
duennas were, he paused awhile to contemplate her who demanded 
him for her husband. 

The marshal of the field called Don Quixote, who had presented 
himself in the lists ; and, in the presence of Tosilos, he asked the 
duennas whether they consented that Don Quixote de la Mancha 
should maintain their right. They answered that they did, and that 
whatever he should do in the case they allowed to be well done, 
firm and valid. By this time the duke and duchess were seated 
in a balcony over the barriers, which were crowded with an infinite 
number of people, all expecting to behold this dangerous and 
unheard-of rencounter. It was articled between the combatants 
that, if Don Quixote should conquer his adversary, the latter should 
be obliged to marry Donna Rodriguez' daughter ; but that, if he 
should be overcome, his adversary should be at liberty and free 
from the promise the women insisted upon, without giving any 
other satisfaction. 

The master of the ceremonies divided the sun equally between 
them, and fixed each in the post at which he was to stand. The 
drums beat, the sound of the trumpets filled the air, the earth 
trembled beneath the horses' feet ; the hearts of the gazing multi- 
tude were in suspense, some fearing and others hoping the good 
or ill success of this business. Finally, Don Quixote, recommend- 
ing himself with all his heart to God Our Lord, and to his lady 
Dulcinea del Toboso, stood waiting when the precise signal for 
the onset should be given. But our lacquey's thoughts were very 
differently employed, he thinking of nothing but of what I am going 
to relate. It would appear that, while he stood looking at his 
female enemy, he fancied her the most beautiful woman he liad 
ever seen in his life, and the little blind boy, called up and down 



the streets, Love, would not lose the opportunity offered him of 
triumphing over a vile heart, and placing it in the catalogue of his 
trophies. So approaching him fair and softy, without any body's 


seeing him, he shot the poor lacquey in at the left side with an 
arrow two yards long, and pierced his heart through and through ; 

PART II. — CHAP. LVI. 357 

and certes he might safely do it, for love is invisible ; he goes in 
in and out where he lists, without being accountable to any body 
for his actions. I say then that, when the signal was given for the 
onset, our lacquey stood transported, thinking on her he had now made 
the mistress of his liberty ; therefore he regarded not the trumpet's 
sound, as did Don Quixote, who had scarcely heard it when, 
bending forward, he ran against his enemy at Rocinante's best 
speed. His trusty squire, Sancho, seeing him set forward, cried 
aloud : " Heaven guide you, cream and flower of knights-errants ! 
God give you victory, since you have right on your side." 

Though Tosilos saw Don Quixote making towards him, he 
stirred not a step from his post; on the contrary, calling as loud as 
he could to the marshal of the field, who came up to see what he 
wanted : " Sir," said Tosilos, " is not this combat to decide whether I 
should marry or not marry yonder young lady ? " — " It is," answered 
the marshal. " Then," rejoined the lacquey, " my conscience will not 
let me proceed any farther, and I declare that I yield myself 
vanquished, and am ready to marry the gentlewoman immediately." 
The marshal was surprised at what Tosilos said, and, as he was 
in the secret of the contrivance, could not tell what answer to 
make. Don Quixote, perceiving that his adversary did not come 
on to meet him, stopped short in the midst of his career. The 
duke could not guess the reason why the combat did not go forward ; 
but the marshal went and told him what Tosilos had said, at 
which he was surprised and extremely angry. 

In the meantime, Tosilos went up to the place where Donna 
Rodriguez was, and said aloud : *' I am willing, madam, to marry 
your daughter, and would not obtain that by strife and contention 
which I may have by peace and without danger of death." The 
valorous Don Quixote hearing this, said : " Since it is so, I am 
absolved from my promise. Let them be married in God's name, 
and, since God has given her, may Saint Peter bless her.* 

The duke was now come down to the court of the castle, and, 
going up to Tosilos, he said : ** Is it true, knight, that you yield 
yourself vanquished, and that, instigated by your timorous 
conscience, you will marry this damsel ? " — " Yes, my lord," answered 


Tosilos. " He does very well," interposed Sancho Panza at this 

juncture, **for what you would give to the mouse, give it the cat, and 

you will have no trouble." Tosilos was all this while unlacing his 

helmet, and desired them to help him quickly, for his spirits and 

breath were just failing him, and he could not endure to be so long 

pent up in the straightness of his lodging ; they presently unarmed 

him, and the face of the lacquey was exposed to view. When Donna 

Rodriguez and her daughter saw it, they cried aloud : " A cheat! a 

cheat ! Tosilos, my lord duke's lacquey, is put upon us instead of our 

true spouse ! justice from God and the king against so much 

deceit, not to say villainy ! " — " Afflict not yourselves, ladies," cried 

Don Quixote ; " this is neither deceit nor villany ; or, if it be, the 

duke is not to blame, but the wicked enchanters who persecute me, 

and who, envying me the glory of this conquest, have transformed 

the countenance of your husband into that of this person who you 

say is a lacquey of the duke's. Take my advice, and, in spite 

of the maHce of my enemies, marry him, for, without doubt, he is 

the very man you desire to take for your husband." The duke, 

hearing this, was ready to vent his anger in laughter : " The things 

which befall signor Don Quixote," said he, " are so extraordinary 

that I am inclined to believe this is not my lacquey. But let us 

make use of this stratagem and device : let us postpone the 

wedding for fifteen days, if you please, and, in the meantime, keep 

this person who holds us in doubt in safe custody. Perhaps, 

during that time, he may return to his pristine figure, and the 

grudge the enchanters bear to signor Don Quixote cannot surely last 

so long, especially since these tricks and transformations avail them 

so little." — " O sir," cried Sancho, " those wicked wretches make 

it their practice and custom to change things relating to my master 

from one shape to another. A knight whom he vanquished a few 

days ago called the Knight of the Mirrors, was changed by them 

into the shape and figure of the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, a 

native of our town, and our intimate friend. They have turned my 

lady Dulcinea del Toboso into a downright country wench. 

Therefore I imagine this lacquey will live and die a lacquey all the 

days of his life." The duenna Rodriguez' daughter now cried: 


" Let him be who he will that demands me to wife, I take it 
kindly of him, for I had rather be lawful wife to a lacquey, than 
an abandoned mistress tricked by a gentleman, though he who 
abused me is not one." 

Finally, all these accidents and events ended in Tosilos' 
confinement till it should appear how his transformation should 
end. The victory was adjudged to Don Quixote by general 
acclamation, but the greater part of the spectators were out of 
humour to find that the so-much-expected combatants had not 
hacked one another to pieces ; the same as boys are sorry when the 
criminal they expected to see hanged is pardoned, either by the 
prosecutor or the court. The crowd dispersed ; the duke and Don 
Quixote returned to the castle ; Tosilos was confined ; Donna 
Rodriguez and her daughter were extremely well pleased to see 
that, one way or other, this business was likely to end in 
matrimony, and Tosilos hoped no less. 





MERGING from his apathy, Don 
Quixote began to think it high time to 
quit so idle a life as that he had led in 
the castle. He imagined that he 
committed a great fault in suffering his 
person to be thus confined, and in 
living lazily amidst the infinite plea- 
sures and entertainments the duke and 
duchess provided for him as a knight- 
errant, and he was of opinion he must 
give a strict account to God for this 
inactivity. He therefore one day 
asked leave of the duke and duchess to 
depart, which they granted him, with 
tokens of being mightily troubled that he would leave them. The 
duchess gave Sancho Panza his wife's letters, which he wept on 
hearing read, and said : " Who could have thought that hopes so 
great as those conceived in the breast of my wife, Teresa Panza, at 
the news of my government, should end in my returning to the 
toilsome adventures of my master, Don Quixote de la Mancha! 
Nevertheless, I am pleased to find that my Teresa has behaved like 




herself in sending the acorns to the duchess. Had she not sent 
them, I should have been sorry, and she would have shewn herself 
ungrateful. But my great comfort, is that this present cannot be 
called a bribe, for I was already in possession of the government 
when she sent them, and it is very fitting that those who receive a 
benefit should shew themselves grateful, though it be with a trifle. 
In fine, naked 1 went into the government, and naked I am come 
out of it, and I can say, with a safe conscience, which is no 
small matter ; ' Naked I was born, naked I am, I neither win nor lose.' " 
This Sancho spoke in soliloquy on the day of their departure. 
Don Quixote, sallying forth one morning, having taken leave of 
the duke and duchess the night before, presented himself completely 
armed before the castle. All the folks of the castle beheld him 







from the galleries, and the duke and duchess also came out to see 
him. Sancho was upon his Dapple, his wallets well furnished and 
himself highly pleased, for the duke's steward, who had played the 
part of the Trifaldi, had given him a little purse with two hundred 
crowns in gold, to supply the occasions of the journey, which Don 
Quixote as yet knew nothing of. Whilst all the folks were thus 
gazing at him, as has been said, among the other duennas and 
damsels of the duchess who were beholding him, on a sudden the 
witty and wanton Altisidora raised her voice, and, in a piteous tone, 
cried : 

" Stay, cruel knight. 

Take not thy flight, 
Nor spur thy battered jade ; 

Thy haste restrain. 

Draw in the rein. 
And hear a love- sick maid. 

Why dost thou fly. 

No snake am I, 
Nor poison those I love : 

Gentle I am 

As any lamb. 
And harmless as a dove. 

Thy cruel scorn 

Has left forlorn 
A nymph, whose charms may vie 

With theirs who sport 

In Cynthia's court, 
Tho' Venus' self were by. 
" Cruel Bireno ^^^ ! to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee *^". 

*^5 In the tenth canto of the Orlando Furioso, Bireno abandons his mistress 
Olympia on a desert island. When the latter awakens, she curses her perfidious 
lover and loads him with imprecations, like Dido at the departure of ii^neas. Hence 
Altisidora's two comparisons. [The reader will remark that Jarvis has omitted the 
allusion to Dido's imprecations of ^Eneas, doubtless for the sake of the rhyme 
Ed. D. Q.] 

^'0 This imprecation forms what the Spaniards call el estribillo (the refrain), and is 
repeated at the end of every strophe. 


" Like rav'nous kite. 

That takes its flight. 
Soon as't has stolen a chicken. 

Thou bear'st away 

My heart, thy prey. 
And leav'st me here to sicken : 

Three night-caps too, 

And garters blue. 
That did to legs belong. 

Smooth to the sight. 

As marble white. 
And faith, almost as strong : 

Two thousand groans. 

As many moans. 
And sighs enough to fire 

Old Priam's town. 

And bum it down. 
Did it again aspire. 
** Cruel Bireno ! to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee. 

" May Sancho ne'er 

His broad back bare. 
Fly-flap, as is his duty ; 

And thou still want 

To disenchant 
Dulcinea's injured beauty. 

May still transform'd. 

And still deform'd, 
Toboso's nymph remain. 

In recompense 

Of thy oftence. 
Thy scorn and cold disdain, 

When thou dost wield 

Thy sword in field. 
In combat or in quarrel, 
111 luck and harms 
Attend thy arms. 
Instead of fame and laurel. 
*' Cruel Bireno ! to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate itill pursue and undo thee. 



'* May thy disgrace 

Fill every place. 
Thy falsehood ne'er be hid. 

But round the world 

Be tossed and hurl'd. 
From Seville to Madrid. 

If, brisk and gay. 

Thou sitt'st to play 
At Ombre or at Chess, 

May ne'er Spadill 

Attend thy will. 
No luck thy movements bless. 

Though thou with care 

Thy corns dost pare. 
May blood thy penknife follow 



May thy gums rage. 

And nought assuage 
The pain of tooth that's hollow. 
" Cruel Bireno ! to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee. 

While the afflicted Altisidora was thus complaining, Don 
Quixote stood beholding her,^and,Twithout answering her a word, 
turning his face to Sancho, he said : " By the souls of your ancestors, 
my dear Sancho, I conjure you tell the truth. Have you taken 
away three night-caps and the garters this enamoured damsel 
mentions ? " — " The three night-caps I have ; but as to the garters, 
I know no more of them than the man in the moon." The 
duchess was surprised at the liberty Altisidora took ; for, though 
she knew her to be bold, witty and free, she did not believe her to 
be impudent to such a degree as to venture upon these freedoms. 
Besides, as she knew nothing of this jest, her surprise increased. 
The duke resolved to carry on the joke, and said to Don Quixote : 
"I think it does not look well, sir knight, that, after having 
received so hearty a welcome in this castle of mine, you should 
dare to carry off three night-caps at least, if not my damsel's 
garters besides. These are indications of a bad heart and ill 
become your character. Return her the garters, if not, I defy you 
to mortal combat, without being afraid that your knavish enchanters 
should change or alter my face, as they have done that of Tosilos 
my lacquey, your intended adversary." — " God forbid," answered 
Don Quixote, " that I should draw my sword against your 
illustrious person, from whom I have received so many favours. 
The night-caps shall be restored, since Sancho says he has them ; 
but for the garters, it is impossible, since I have them not, nor he 
neither ; and if this damsel of yours will search her hiding-places, 
I warrant she will find them. I, my lord duke, never was a thief, 
and think, if Heaven forsakes me not, I never shall be one as long 
as I live. This damsel talks, as she owns, like one in love, which 
is no fault of mine; therefore 1 have no reason to ask pardon 
neither of her, nor of your excellency, whom I beseech to have 



a better opinion of me, and once again, to give me leave to depart." 
— "Pray Heaven, signor Don Quixote," cried the duchess, " send 
you so good a journey that we may continually hear good news of 
your exploits. Go, and God be with you, for the longer you stay, the 
more you increase the fire in the breasts of the damsels who behold 
you. As for mine, I will take her to task so severely, that hence- 
forward she shall not dare to transgress with her eyes, or her 
words." — " Do but hear one word more, O valorous Don Quixote, 
and lam silent," rejoined Altisidora : " it is, that I beg your pardon 
for saying you had stolen my garters, for, on my conscience and 
soul, I have them on, but I was absent in thought, like the man 
who looked for his ass while he was upon his back." — " Did I not 
tell you ? " cried Sancho. " Oh ! I am a rare one for concealing 
thefts. Had I been that way given, I had many a fair opportunity 
for it in my government." 

Don Quixote bowed his head, and made his obeisance to the 
duke and duchess and all the spectators, and turning Rocinante's 
head, Sancho following upon his donkey, he sallied out at the castle 
gate, taking the road to Saragossa. 





N Don Quixote seeing 
himself in the open 
field, free, and delivered 
from the courtship of 
Altisidora, he thought 
himself in his proper 
element, and that his 
spirits were reviving in 
him to prosecute afresh 
his scheme of knight- 
errantry. Turning to 
Sancho, he addressed 
him thus : " Liberty 
Sancho, is one of the 
most valuable of all 
the gifts which Heaven 
has bestowed upon men. 
The treasures which the 
eartli encloses, or the 
sea covers, are not to be compared with it. Life may and ought to be 
risked for liberty as well as for honour ; on the contrary, slavery is 
the greatest evil that can befall us. I tell you this, Sancho, because 



you have observed the civil treatment and plenty we enjoyed in the 
castle we have left. In the midst of those seasoned banquets, those 
icy draughts, I fancied myself starving, because I did not enjoy them 
with the same freedom I should have done had they been my own; for 
the obligations of returning benefits and favours received are ties 
that obstruct the free agency of the mind. Happy the man to^^ 
whom Heaven has given a morsel of bread without laying him 
under the obligation of thanking any other for it than Heaven 
itself." — "Notwithstanding all your worship has said," returned 
Sancho, "it is fit there should be some small acknowledgment on 
our part for the two hundred crowns in gold which the duke's 
steward gave me in a little purse, which, as a cordial and sovereign 
balsam, I carry next my heart, against whatever may happen. We 
shall not always find castles where we shall be made much of; now 
and then we must expect to meet with inns where we may be 
soundly thrashed." 

In these and other such discourses our errant knight and squire 
went jogging on, when, having travelled a little above a league, 
they espied a dozen men clad like peasants, sitting at dinner upon 
the grass in a little green meadow, with their cloaks spread under 
them. Close by them were certain white sheets, as it seemed, 
under which something lay concealed. They were raised above 
the ground, and stretched out at some little distance from each 
other. Don Quixote approached the eaters, and, having first 
courteously saluted them, asked them what they had under those 
sheets. One of them answered : " Sir, under that linen are 
certain wooden images, designed to be placed upon an altar we are 
erecting in our village ; we carry them covered, that they may not 
be sullied, and upon our shoulders, that they may not be broken." 
— " If you please," answered Don Quixote, " I should be glad to 
see them, for images that are carried with so much precaution must 
doubtless be good ones." — " Ay, and very good ones too," added 
another, " as their price will testify ; for in truth, there is not one 
of them but stands us in above fifty ducats. And to convince 
your worship of this truth, stay but a little while, and you shall 
see it with your own eyes." Rising up from his food, he went and 


took off the covering from the first figure, which appeared to be a 
St. George on horseback, with a serpent coiled up at his feet, and 
his lance run through its mouth, with all the fierceness usually 
bestowed on it. The whole image seemed to be, as we say, one 
blaze of gold. " This knight," said Don Quixote, regarding it, 
" was one of the best errant the divine warfare ever had ; he was 
called St. George, and was besides a defender of damsels. Let us 
see this other." The man uncovered it, and it appeared to be an 
image of St. Martin on horseback, dividing his cloak with the poor 
man. Don Quixote no sooner set eyes on it than he cried : " This 
knight also was one of the Christian adventurers, and, I take it, 
more liberal than valiant, as you may perceive, Sancho, by his 
dividing his cloak with the beggar and giving him half ; doubtless 
it must have been then winter, or he would have given it him all, 
so great was his charity." — "That was not the reason," replied 
Sancho; "he had a mind rather to keep to the proverb, which 
says: What to give and what to keep, require an understanding 
deep" Don Quixote smiled, and desired another sheet might be 
taken ofí", underneath which was discovered the image of the 
patron of Spain on horseback, his sword all bloody, trampling 
on Moors and treading upon their heads. When he beheld this, 
Don Quixote cried : " Ay, marry, this is a knight indeed, one of 
Christ's own squadron; he is called Saint James Matamoros ^7i^ 
and was one of the most valiant saints and knights the world had 
formerly, or Heaven has now." Then they removed another sheet 
which covered St. Paul falling from his horse, with all the 
circumstances that are usually drawn in the picture of his 
conversion. When Don Quixote saw it represented in so lively a 
manner that one would almost say Christ was speaking and St, 
Paul answering, he said : " This was the greatest enemy the churcli 
of God our Lord had in his time, and the greatest defender it will 
ever have ; a knight-errant in his life, a steadfast saint in his death, 
an unwearied labourer in the Lord's vineyard, a teacher of the 

•^ Literally Moor-Slayer. 

VOL. 111. 3 A 



Gentiles, whose school was Heaven, and whose professor and 
master was Jesus Christ himself." 

There were no more images, and so Don Quixote bid them 
cover them up again, and said : *' I take it for a good omen, 
brethren, to have seen what I have seen, for these saints and 
knights professed what I profess, which is the exercise of arms, 
the only difference between them and me being that they were 
saints and fought after a heavenly manner, and I am a sinner 
and fight after an earthly manner. They conquered Heaven by 
force of arms, for Heaven suifers violence ^^^ 5 and I, hitherto, 
cannot tell what I conquer, by force of my sufferings. But could 
my Dulcinea del Toboso get out of hers, my condition being 
bettered and my understanding directed aright, I might perhaps 
take a better course than I do." — " God hear him," said Sancho to 
himself, " and let sin be deaf! " 

The men wondered no less at the figure than at the words of 
Don Quixote, vdthout understanding half what he meant by the 
latter. They finished their repast, packed up their images, and, 
taking their leave of Don Quixote, pursued their journey. 

Sancho remained as much in admiration at his master's knowledge, 
as if he had never known him before, thinking there was no history 
nor event which he had not at his fingers ends, and fastened down to 
his memory. " Truly, master of mine," said he, " if this that has happen- 
ed to us to-day may be called an adventure, it has been one of the 
softest and sweetest that has befallen us in the whole course of our 
peregrinations. We are clear of it without alarm or blows ; we 
have neither laid our hands to our swords, nor beaten the earth 
with our bodies, nor are we starved with hunger. Blessed be God 
for letting me see this with my own eyes!" — "You say well, 
Sancho," said Don Quixote; "but you must consider that all times 
are not alike, nor do they take the same course. What the vulgar 
commonly call omens, though not founded upon any natural reason, 
a discreet man will yet look upon as lucky encounters. One of 
these superstitious people rises and goes abroad early in the 

^'2 Saint Matthew, Chap ii., verse 12. 


morning, and, meeting with a friar of the order of the blessed saint 
Francis, turns his back, as if he had met a griffin, and goes home 
again. Another spills the salt upon the table, and forthwith 
melancholy overspreads his heart, as if nature was bound to shew 
signs of ensuing mischances by such trivial accidents. The wise 
and Christian man ought not to pry too curiously into the councils 
of Heaven. Scipio, arriving in Africa, stumbled at jumping 
ashore ; his soldiers took it for an ill omen. But he, embracing 
the ground : ' Africa, thou canst not escape me,* cried he, ' for I 
have thee fast between my arms.' Therefore, Sancho, the meeting 
with these images has been a most happy encounter to me." — " I 
verily believe it," answered Sancho, " and I should be glad if your 
worship would inform me why the Spaniards, when they join 
battle, invoke Saint James Matamoros, and cry : * Saint James, and 
close Spain 573 ? ' Is Spain, peradventure, so open as to want closing ? 
or what ceremony is this?" — "You are a very child, Sancho,'* 
answered Don Quixote ; " take notice that God gave this great knight 
of the Red Cross to Spain for its patron and protector, especially 
in those rigorous conflicts the Spaniards have had with the Moors. 
Therefore they pray to and invoke him as their defender in all the 
battles they fight, and they have frequently seen him visibly over- 
throwing, trampKng down, destroying and slaughtering the Saracenic 
squadrons. Of this 1 could produce examples recorded in the true 
Spanish histories." 

Sancho, changing the discourse, said to his master : "I am 
amazed, sir, at the assurance of Altisidora, the duchess's waiting- 
woman. The little blind god, Love, must surely have wounded her 
sorely, and pierced her through and through. They say he is a 
boy, who, though purblind, or, to say better, quite bhnd, if he 
takes aim at any heart, how small soever, hits and pierces it 
through and through with his arrows. I have also heard say that 
the darts of Love are blunted and rendered pointless by the 
modesty and reserve of maidens; but in this same Altisidora, 

*^ Santiago, y cierra, España. Literally, Saint James, and attack, Spain. The 
word cerrar, which formerly meant to attack, now signifies to close. Hence 
Sancho's jeu de mots. 


methinks, they are rather whetted than blunted." — " Look you, 
Sancho," answered Don Quixote, *' Love regards no respects, nor 
observes any rules of reason in his proceedings, and is of the same 
nature with death, which assaults the stately palaces of kings as 
well as the lowly cottages of shepherds ; and when he takes entire 
possession of a soul, the first thing he does, is to divest it of fear 
and shame. Thus Altisidora, being without both, made an open 
declaration of her desires, which produced rather confusion than 
compassion in my breast." — " Notorious cruelty ! " cried Sancho, 
" unheard-of ingratitude ! I dare say, for myself, that the least 
amorous hint of her's would have made me her vassal. O ! what 
a heart of marble ! what bowels of brass ! what a soul of plaster 
of Paris ! But I cannot conceive what it is this damsel saw in your 
worship that subdued and captivated her to that degree. What 
finery, what gallantry, what gaiety, what face ? Which of these, 
jointly or severally, made her fall in love with you? In truth, in 
truth, I have often surveyed your worship from the tip of your toe 
to the top of your head, and I see in you more things to cause 
terror than love. Having also heard say that beauty is the first 
and principal thing that enamours, your worship having none at 
all, I wonder what the poor thing was in love with." — " Look you, 
Sancho," answered Don Quixote, " there are two sorts of beauty, 
the one of the mind, the other of the bo^y. That of the mind 
shines and discovers itself in the understanding, in modesty, good 
behaviour, liberality, good-breeding, and all these qualities may 
subsist and be found in an ill-favoured man. When the aim is at 
this beauty, and not at that of the body, it produces love with 
impetuosity and advantage. I know very well, Sancho, that I am 
not handsome, but I know also that T am not deformed ; and an 
honest man, who is not a monster, may be beloved, provided he has 
the qualities of the mind I have mentioned." 

In such converse as this they entered into a wood not far out of 
the road, and on a sudden Don Quixote found himself entangled 
in some nets of green thread, which hung from one tree to 
another. Not being able to imagine what it might he, he said 
to Sancho : " The business of these nets, Sancho, must, I think be 



one of the newest adventures imaginable. Let me die if the en- 
chanters who persecute me have not a mind to entangle me in 
them, and stop my journey, by way of revenge for the rigorous 
treatment Altisidora received from me. But I would have them to 
know that though these nets, instead of being made of thread, were 
made of the hardest diamonds, or stronger than that in which the 
jealous Vulcan entangled Venus and Mars, I would break them as 
easily as if they were made of bulrushes or yarn." He was going 
to pass forward and break through all, when two most beautiful 
shepherdesses presented themselves unexpectedly from among the 

trees before him ; at least, they were clad like shepherdesses, excep- 
ting that their corsets were of fine brocade, and their habits of 


rich gold lutestring. Their hair, which for brightness might come 
in competition with the rays of the sun, hung loose about their shoul- 
ders, and their heads were crowned with garlands of green laurel 
and red amaranths interwoven. Their age seemed to be not under 
fifteen nor above eighteen. This sight amazed Sancho, surprised 
Don Quixote, made the sun stop in his career to behold them, and 
held them all in marvellous silence. At length one of the shep- 
herdesses was the first to break it : " Stop, signor cavalier," said 
she to Don Quixote, " and break not the nets placed here, not for 
your hurt, but our diversion. And because I know you will ask 
us why they are spread, I will tell you in a few words. In a town 
about two leagues off, where there are several people of quality 
and a great many hidalgos, and those rich, it was agreed among 
several friends and relations that their sons, wives and daughters, 
neighbours, friends and relations, should all come to make merry 
in this place, which is one of the pleasantest in these parts. We 
form among ourselves a new pastoral Arcadia ; the maidens dressing 
themselves like shepherdesses, and the young men like shepherds. 
We have learned by heart two eclogues, one by the famous poet 
Garcilaso de la Vega, and the other by the most excellent Camoens, 
in his own Portuguese tongue. We have not yet represented 
them, for yesterday was the first day of our coming hither. We 
have some field-tents pitched among the trees on the margin of a 
copious stream which spreads fertility over all these meadows. 
Last night we hung our nets upon these trees to deceive the 
birds which should come at the noise we make and be caught in 
them. If, sir, you please to be our guest, you shall be entertained 
generously and courteously, for into this place neither sorrow nor 
melancholy enter." 

The shepherdess held her peace, and Don Quixote answered : 
" Assuredly, fairest lady, Actaeon was not in greater surprise and 
amazement when unawares he saw Diana bathing, than I have 
been in at beholding your beauty. I applaud the scheme of your 
diversions, and thank you for your kind offers. If I can do you 
any service, you may lay your commands upon me in full assurance 
of being obeyed ; for my profession is no other than to show 


myself grateful and a benefactor to all sorts of people, especially to 
those of the rank to which your presence denotes you to belong. 
Should these nets, which probably take up but a small space, 
occupy the whole surface of the earth, I would seek out new worlds 
to pass through rather than hazard the breaking of them : and that 
you may afford some credit to my hjrperbole, learn that he who 
makes you this promise is no less than Don Quixote de la 
Mancha, if perchance this name has ever reached your ears." — 
" Ah ! friend of my soul ! '* cried the other young shepherdess, 
"what good fortune has befallen us ! See you this gentleman here 
before us ? I assure you he is the most valiant, the most 
enamoured, the most complaisant knight in the world; at least 
unless a history which goes about of him in print, and which I 
have read, lies and deceives us. I will lay a wager that this 
honest man who comes with him is a certain Sancho Panza, his 
squire, whose pleasantries none can equal." — " That is true," said 
Sancho, " I am that same jocular squire you say, and this 
gentleman is my master, the very Don Quixote de la Mancha 
imprinted, and historified." — " Ah ! " cried the other, "let us entreat 
him to stay ; our fathers and brothers will be infinitely pleased to 
have him here. I have heard the same things of his valour and 
wit that you tell me. Particularly they say he is the most constant 
and most faithful lover in the world, and that his mistress is one 
Dulcinea del Toboso, who bears away the palm from all the 
beauties in Spain." — "And with good reason," rejoined Don 
Quixote, " unless your matchless beauty brings it into question. 
But weary not yourselves, ladies, in endeavouring to detain me, 
for the precise obligations of my profession will suffer me to rest 

By this time there came up to where the four stood a brother 
of one of the young shepherdesses, also in a shepherd's dress, 
answerable in richness and gallantry to theirs. They told him 
that the person he saw was the valorous Don Quixote de la Mancha, 
and the other, Sancho, his squire, of whom he had some knowledge 
by having read their history. The gallant shepherd saluted him, 
and desired him to come with him to the tents, which invitation 


Don Quixote could not refuse; he therefore followed him. 
Then the nets were drawn and filled with a variety of little birds, 
which, deceived by the colour of the nets, fell into the very danger 
they endeavoured to fly from. Above thirty persons, genteelly 
dressed in pastoral habits, were assembled together in the place. 
They presently were made acquainted who Don Quixote and his 
squire were, which was no small satisfaction to them, as they were 
already no strangers to their history. 

They hastened to the tents, where they found the table spread, 
rich, plentiful and neat. They honoured Don Quixote by placing 
him at the upper end. They all gazed at him, wondering at the 
sight. In due time, the cloth being taken away, Don Quixote 
raised his voice, and began to speak as follows : " Of all the 
grievous sins men commit, though some say pride, I aflirm 
that ingratitude is the worst, adhering to the common opinion 
that hell is peopled with the ungrateful. This sin, I have 
endeavoured to avoid as much as possibly I could, ever since I 
came to the use of reason. If I cannot repay the good offices done 
me with the like, I place in their stead the desire of doing 
them ; and, when this is not enough, I publish them ; for he who 
tells and publishes the good deeds done to him, would return them 
in kind if he could. Generally, in fact, the receivers are inferior to 
the givers. God is therefore above all, because he is bountiful 
above all. But though the gifts of men are infinitely disproportion- 
ate to those of God, gratitude in some measure supplies their 
narrowness and defects. I then, being grateful for the civility 
offered me here, but restrained by the narrow limits of my ability 
from making a suitable return, offer what I can and what is in my 
power. Therefore do I say I will maintain, for two whole days, 
in the middle of this highway which leads to Saragossa, that 
these lady shepherdesses in disguise are the most beautiful and 
most courteous damsels in the world, excepting only the peerless 
Dulcinea del Toboso, the sole mistress of my thoughts, without 
offence to any that hear me be it spoken." 

Sancho, who had been listening to him with great attention, on 
hearing this, cried aloud : " Is it possible there should be any 


persons in the world who presume to say and swear that this 
master of mine is a madman! Speak, gentlemen shepherds, is 
there a country vicar, though ever so discreet or ever so good a 
scholar, who can say what my master has said ? Is there a knight- 
errant, though ever so renowned for valour, who can offer what 
my master has now offered ? " Don Quixote turned to Sancho, 
and, with a wrathful countenance, said : " Is it possible, O Sancho, 
there is anybody upon the globe who will say you are not an idiot 
lined with the same, and edged with I know not what of the 
mischievous and knavish ? Who gave you authority to meddle 
with what belongs to me, and to call in question my folly or 
discretion? Silence, and make no reply, but go saddle Rocinante, 
if he be unsaddled; then let us go and put my offer into 
execution ; for, considering how much I am in the right, you may 
conclude all those who shall contradict me already conquered." 
That said, with tokens of indignation he rose from his seat, leaving 
the company wonder-stricken, and in doubt whether they should 
reckon him a madman or a man of sense. 

In short, they would have persuaded him not to put himself 
upon such a trial, saying they were satisfied of his grateful nature, 
and wanted no other proofs of his valour than those related in the 
history of his exploits. Don Quixote, however, persisted in his 
design. Being mounted upon Rocinante, bracing his shield and 
taking his lance, he planted himself in the middle of the highway 
which passed near the verdant meadow. Sancho followed upon 
his donkey, with all the pastoral company, being desirous to see 
what would be the event of this arrogant and unheard-of challenge. 
Don Quixote being posted, as aforesaid, in the middle of the 
road, spoke at the top of his voice as follows : " O ye passengers, 
travellers, knights, squires, people on foot and on horseback, who 
now pass this way or are to pass in these two days following, know 
that Don Quixote de la Mancha, knight-errant, is posted here 
ready to maintain that the nymphs who inhabit these meadows and 
groves exceed all the world in beauty and courtesy, excepting 
only the mistress of my soul, Dulcinea del Toboso ; therefore, let 
him who is of a contrary opinion come ; here I stand ready to 
VOL. III. 3 B 



receive him." Twice he repeated the same words, and twice they 
•were not heard by any adventurer. But fortune, which was 
disposing his afíairs from good to better, so ordered it that soon 
after they discovered a great many men on horseback, several of 
them with lances in their hands, all trooping in a cluster, and in 
great haste. Scarcely had they who were with Don Quixote seen them, 
ere they turned their backs, and got far enough out of the way, fearing 
that if they staid they might be exposed to some danger. Don Quixote 
alone, with an intrepid heart, stood firm, and Sancho Panza screened 
himself behind Rocinante's haunches. The troop of lance-men 
came up, and one of the foremost began to cry aloud to Don 
Quixote : " Get out of the way, devil of a man, lest the bulls 
trample you to pieces." — " Rascals," replied Don Quixote, " I 
value not your bulls, though they were the fiercest that Jarama ever 
bred upon its banks. Confess, ye scoundrels, that what I have 
here proclaimed is true ; if not, I challenge ye to battle." 

The herdsman had no time to answer, nor Don Quixote to get 
out of the way, if he would ; so the whole herd of fierce bulls and 



tame kine which are used to precede them ^7*, with the multitude 
of herdsmen, and others who were driving them to a certain town 
where they were to be baited in a day or two, all ran over Don 
Quixote and Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple, leaving them all 
sprawling and rolling on the ground. Sancho remained bruised, 
Don Quixote astonished. Dapple battered, and Rocinante not 
perfectly sound. At length they all got up, and Don Quixote, in 
a great hurry, stumbling here and falling there, began to run after 
the herd, crying aloud : " Hold, stop, ye vile malandrins, a single 
knight defies ye all, who is not of the disposition or opinion of those 
who say : * Make a bridge of silver for a flying enemy' " But the 
hasty runners stopped not for this, and made no more account of 
his menaces than of last year's clouds. Weariness stopped Don 
Quixote, who more enraged than revenged, sat down in the road, 
awaiting the coming up of Sancho, Rocinante and Dapple. They 
came up at last; master and man mounted again, and, without 
turning back to take their leaves of the feigned and counterfeit 
Arcadia, and with more shame than satisfaction, pursued their 

*^* The keepers of bulls destined for the arena guard them on horseback, and use 
lances instead of whips. The bulls brought from the pasture to the arena, the night 
before the fight, are led by oxen trained for the purpose, termed Cabestros. 







ON Quixote and Sancho found 
relief from the dust and wea- 
riness they underwent through 
the rude encounter of the bulls, 
in a clear and limpid fountain 
which ran in the midst of a cool 
grove. Leaving Dapple and Rocin- 
ante free without halter or bridle, 
the way-beaten couple,| master 
and man, sat them down on the 
bank. Sancho had recourse to 
the cupboard of his wallet, and 
drew out what he was wont to call his sauce. He rinsed his mouth 
and Don Quixote washed his face, with which refreshment they 
relieved their fainting spirits. Don Quixote would eat nothing 
out of pure chagrin, nor durst Sancho touch the victuals out of 
pure good manneis, expecting his master should first be his taster. 


PART II. — CHAP. LIX. 381 

But, seeing him so carried away by his imaginations as to forget to 
put a bit in his mouth, he said nothing, and, breaking through all 
kind of ceremony, began to stow away in his hungry stomach the 
bread and cheese before him. "Eat, friend Sancho," said Don 
Quixote, " support life, which is of more importance to you than 
to me, and leave me to die under the weight of my reflections and by 
the force of my misfortunes. I, Sancho, was bom to live dying, and 
you to die eating. To shew you that I speak the truth, consider 
me printed in histories, renowned in arms, courteous in my actions, 
respected by princes, courted by damsels, and, after all, when I 
expected palms, triumphs and crowns, earned and merited by my 
valorous exploits, this morning have I seen myself trod upon, 
kicked and bruised under the feet of filthy and impure beasts. 
This reflection sets my teeth on edge, stupifies my grinders, 
benumbs my hands and quite takes away my appetite, so that I 
think of suflering myself to die with hunger, the cruelest of 
all deaths." — " At this rate," repHed Sancho, chewing apace as he 
spoke, "your worship will not approve of the proverb, which says: 
* Let Martha die, but with her belly full.' At least, I do not intend 
to kill myself. On the contrary, I mean rather to imitate the 
shoemaker, who pulls the leather with his teeth till he stretches it 
to what he would have it. I will stretch my life by eating, till it 
reaches the end Heaven has allotted it. Let me tell you, sir, there 
is no greater madness, than to despair as you do. Believe me ; 
after you have eaten, try to sleep a little upon the green mattress of 
this grass, and when you awake you will find yourself much 

Don Quixote complied, thinking Sancho reasoned more like a 
philosopher than a fool. "If, O Sancho," said he, "you would 
now do for me what I am going to tell you, my comforts would be 
more certain, and my sorrows not so great : it is this, that while I, 
in pursuance of your advice, am sleeping, you will step a little aside, 
and with the reins of Rocinante's bridle, turning up your flesh to 
the sky, give yourself three or four hundred lashes, in part of the 
three thousand and odd you are bound to give yourself for the 
disenchantment of Dulcinea ; for, in faith, it is a great pity the 



poor lady should continue under enchantment through your 
carelessness and neglect." — " There is a great deal to be said as to 
that," rejoined Sancho. " For the present let us both sleep, and 
afterwards God knows what may happen. Pray consider, sir, that 
this same whipping one's-self in cold blood is a cruel thing, 
especially when the lashes light upon a body ill-sustained and worse 
fed. Let my lady Dulcinea have patience ; one fine day, when she 
least thinks of it, she will see me pinked like a sieve by dint of 
stripes, and until death all is life ; I mean I am still alive, together 
with the desire of fulfilling my promise." 

Don Quixote thanked him, ate a little, and Sancho much ; and 
both proceeded to compose themselves to sleep, leaving Rocinante 
and Dapple, though inseparable companions and friends, at their 
ovni discretion and without controul, to feed upon the rich thick 
A grass with which that meadow abounded. The sleepers awoke 

somewhat of the latest. They mounted again and pursued their 
journey, hastening to reach an inn which seemed to be about a 
league off". I say an inn, because Don Quixote called it so, 
contrary to his custom of calling all inns castles. They arrived at 
it, and demanded of the host if he had any lodging. He answered 
that he had, with all the conveniencies and entertainment that was 
to be found even in Saragossa. They both alighted, and Sancho 
secured his baggage in a chamber of which the landlord gave him 
the key. He took the beasts to the stable, gave them their allow- 
ance, and giving particular thanks to Heaven that this inn had not 
been taken by his master for a castle, went to see what commands 
Don Quixote, who was seated upon a stone bench, had for him. 

Supper-time came, and they betook them to their chamber. Sancho 
asked the host what he had to give them for supper. The host 
answered : " Your mouth shall be measured, and you may call for 
whatever you please. This inn is amply provided, as far as birds 
of the air, fowls of the earth, and fishes of the sea go." — " There is 
no need of quite so much," answered Sancho ; "roast us but couple 
of chickens and we shall have enough, for my master has a delicate 
appetite, and I am no glutton." The host replied he had no 
chickens, for the kites had devoured them. " Then order a pullet. 

PART II. — CHAP. LIX. 383 

signer host," quoth Sancho, " to be roasted, and see that it be ten- 
der." — "A pullet, Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the host; " truly, truly, 
I sent above fifty yesterday to the city to be sold ; but, excepting 
pullets, ask for whatever you will." — " If it be so," returned Sancho, 
" veal or kid cannot be wanting." — " There is none in the house at 
present," answered the host, "for it is all made an end of ; but, 
next week, there will be enough and to spare." — "We are much the 
nearer for that," answered Sancho ; " I will lay a wager all these 
deficiencies will be made up with a superabundance of bacon and 
eggs." — " Before Heaven," answered the host, " my guest has an 
admirable guess with him ! I told him I had neither pullets nor 
hens, and he would have me have eggs ! Talk of other delicacies, 
but ask no more for eggs." — " Body of me ! let us come to some- 
thing," cried Sancho ; " tell me in short what you have, and lay 
aside your flourishings, master host." — " Signor guest," said the inn- 
keeper, " what I really and truly have is a pair of cow-heels that 
look like calves-feet, or a pair of calves-feet that look like cow- 
heels. They are in the saucepan, seasoned with peas, onions and 
bacon, and at this very minute are crying : ' Come eat me, come eat 
me.' " — " I mark them for my own from this moment,'* cried San- 
cho, " and let nobody touch them ; I will pay more for them than 
another shall, because I could wish for nothing that I like better ; 
and I care not a fig what heels they are, so they axe not hoofs." — 
" Nobody shall touch them," answered the host ; " for some other 
guests in the house, out of pure gentility, bring their own cook, 
their caterer and their provisions with them." — " If gentility be the 
business," said Sancho, "nobody is more a gentleman than my 
master ; but the calling he is of allows of no catering or butlering. 
Alas ! we are often compelled to caulk it out in the midst of a green 
field, and fill our bellies with acorns or medlars." This discourse 
Sancho held with the innkeeper, not caring to answer him any far- 
ther, though the other had already asked him of what calHng or 
employment his master was. Supper-time being come, Don Quix- 
ote withdrew to his chamber ; the host brought the flesh-pot just 
as it was, and fairly sat himself down to supper. 

It seems that in the room next to that where Don Quixote was, 


and divided only by a partition of latli, Don Quixote presently heard 
somebody say : " By your life, signor Don Gerónimo, while supper 
is getting ready, let us read another chapter of the second part of 
Don Quixote de la Mancha." No sooner did Don Quixote hear 
himself named, than up he stood and, with an attentive ear, lis- 
tened to their discourse. He heard the Don Gerónimo answer : 
" Why, signor Don Juan, would you have us read such absurdities ? 
Whoever has read the first part of the history of Don Quixote de 
la Mancha cannot possibly be pleased with reading the second." — 
" For all that," said Don Juan, " it will not be amiss to read it ; 
there is no book so bad but it has something good in it. What 
displeases me most in it, is that the author describes Don Quixote 
as no longer in love with Dulcinea del Toboso ^^5." 

When Don Quixote overheard this, full of wrath and indignation, 
he raised his voice and cried : " Whoever shall say that Don Quixote 
de la Mancha has forgotten or can forget Dulcinea del Toboso, I 
will make him know, with equal arms, that he is very wide of the 
truth ; for neither can the peerless Dulcinea be forgotten, nor is 
Don Quixote capable of forgetting. His motto is constancy, and 
his profession is to preserve it with sweetness, and without doing 
himself any violence." — " Who is it that answers us ? " demanded 
one in the other room. " Who should it be," replied Sancho, " but 
Don Quixote de la Mancha himself, who will make good all he 
says, and all he shall say, for a good paymaster is in pain for no 

Scarcely had Sancho said this, when into the room came two gen- 
tlemen (for such they seemed to be), and one of them, throwing his 
arms about Don Quixote's neck, said : " Your presence can neither 

^^5 Cervantes here speaks of the impertinent continuation of the Don Quixote, 
composed by an Aragonese author, who concealed his real designation under the 
name of the licentiate Alonzo Fernandez de Avallaneda, which made its appearance 
while he was himself writing the second part. Avallaneda in fact describes Don 
Quixote as having renounced his passion, in Chapters IV., VI., VIII., XII. and 
XIII. He had said in his third chapter: "Don Quixote concluded his interview 
with Sancho by saying that he was resolved to repair to Saragossa to the jousts, 
and that he thought of forgetting the ungrateful Infanta Dulcinea del Toboso, to 
seek another mistress." 



belie your name, nor your name do otherwise than credit your 
presence. Doubtless, signor, you are the true Don Quixote de la 
Mancha, the north and morning star of knight-errantry, in spite of 
him who has endeavoured to usurp your name and annihilate your 
exploits, as the author of this book I here give you has done." At 
the same time he put a book that his companion held into Don 
Quixote's hand. The knight took it, and without answering a 
word, began to turn over the leaves : presently after he returned it, 
saying : " In the little I have seen, I have found three things in 
this author that deserve reprehension. The first is, some words I 
have read in the prologue ^7^; the next, that the language is Ara- 
gonian, for he sometimes writes without articles ; the third, which 
chiefly convicts him of ignorance, is that he errs and deviates from 
the truth in a principle point of the history. He says in effect that ^ 
the wife of my squire, Sancho Panza, is called Mary Gutierrez ^^7^ 
whereas that is not her name, but Teresa Panza ; and he who errs 
in so principal a point may very well be supposed to be mistaken in 

*7« These arc grossly injurious expressions addressed directly to Cervantes. 
'^ Cervantes fori^ets that he himself gave her this namo in the first part, and that 
he calls her Juana Gutierrez in the seventh chapter of the second. 
VOL. III. 3 C 



the rest of the history," — " Prettily done, indeed, of this same his- 
torian ! " cried Sancho ; " he must be well informed, truly, of our 
adventures, since he calls Teresa Panza, my wife, Mary Gutierrez ! 
Take the book again, sir, and see whether I am in it, and whether 
he has changed my name." — " By what you say, friend," said Don 
Gerónimo, " without doubt you are Sancho Panza, Don Quixote's 
squire." — " I am so," answered Sancho, " and value myself upon it." 
— ** In faith, then," said the gentleman, " this modern author does 
not treat you with that decency which seems agreeable to your per- 
son. He describes you a glutton and a simpleton, and not at all 
pleasant, and quite a different Sancho from him described in the 
first part of your master's history." — " God forgive him," answered 
Sancho ; " he might have let me alone in my corner, without re- 
membering me at all ; for let him who knows the instrument play 
on it, and Saint Peter is nowhere so well as at Rome." 

The two gentlemen invited Don Quixote to step to their cham- 
ber and sup with them, well knowing there was nothing to be had 
in the inn fit for his entertainment. Don Quixote, who was always 
courteous, condescended to their request and supped with them. 

PART II. — CHAP. LIX. 387 

Sancho stayed behind with the flesh-pot, cum mero mixto imperio ; 
he placed himself at the head of the table, and by him sat down the 
innkeeper, as fond of the cow-heels as Sancho himself. 

While they were at supper, Don Juan asked Don Quixote what 
news he had of the lady Dulcinea del Toboso ; whether she was 
married, whether yet brought to bed or with child, or if, continuing 
a maiden, she still remembered, with the reserve of her modesty 
and good decorum, the amorous inclinations of signor Don Quixote. 
" Dulcinea," replied Don Quixote, *' is still a maiden, and my in- 
clinations are more constant than ever ; our correspondence upon 
the old footing ; her beauty transformed into the visage of a coarse 
country-wench." Then he recounted every particular of the en- 
chantment of Dulcinea, and what had befallen him in the cavern of 
Montesinos, with the direction the sage Merlin had given him for 
her disenchantment, namely Sancho's flagellation. Great was the 
satisfaction the two gentlemen received to hear Don Quixote relate 
the strange adventures of his history. They wondered equally at 
his extravagancies and at his elegant manner of telling them. One 
while they held him for a wise man, then for a fool, nor could they 
determine what degree to assign him between discretion and folly. 

Sancho made an end of supper, and, leaving the innkeeper more 
than half tipsy, he went to the chamber where his master was, and 
said as he entered : " May I die, gentlemen, if the author of this 
book you have got has a mind he and I should eat a good meal to- 
gether. I hope at least, since, as you say, he calls me glutton, he 
does not call me drunkard too." — " Ay, marry, does he," answered 
Don Gerónimo ; " I do not remember after what manner, though I 
know the expressions carried but an ill sound, and were false into 
the bargain, as I see plainly by the countenance of honest Sancho 
here present." — " Believe me, gentlemen," rejoined Sancho, " that 
the Sancho and Don Quixote of that history are not the same with 
those of the book composed by Cid Hamet Ben Engeli, who are 
us : my master valiant, discreet and in love ; and I, simple, plea- 
sant, and neither a glutton nor a drunkard." — " I believe it," re- 
turned Don Juan ; " and if it were possible, it should be ordered 
that none dare to treat of matters relating to Don Quixote but Cid 


Hamet, his first author, the same as Alexander commanded that 
none should dare to draw his picture but Apelles." — " Draw me 
who will," said Don Quixote, " but let him not abuse me, for pa- 
tience is apt to fail when it is overladen with injuries." — " None," 
added Don Juan, " can be offered signor Don Quixote that he can- 
not revenge, unless he wards it off with the buckler of his patience, 
which, in my opinion, is strong and great." 

In these and the like discourses they spent great part of the 
night; and, though Don Juan had a mind Don Quixote should 
read more of the book, to see what it treated of, he could not be 
prevailed upon. He made answer that he deemed it as read, that 
he pronoimced it to be foolish, and that he was unwilling its author 
should have the pleasure of thinking he had read it, if per- 
adventure he might come to hear he had had it in his hands. 
" Besides," he added, " the thoughts and still more the eyes, ought 
to be turned from everything obscene and ridiculous ^^^." They 
asked him which way he intended to bend his course. He 
answered to Saragossa, to be present at the jousts for armoury 
which are held every year in that city. Don Juan told him how 
the new history related, that Don Quixote, whoever he was, had 
been there at a ring-race, and that the description thereof was 
defective in the contrivance, mean and low in the style, miserably 
poor in description; finally, rich only in simplicities ^79, «In that 
case," answered Don Quixote, " I will not set a foot in Saragossa, 
and so I will expose to the world the falsity of this modern his- 
toriographer, and all people will plainly perceive I am not the 
Don Quixote he speaks of." — " You will do very well," said Don 
Gerónimo ; " and there are to be other jousts at Barcelona, where 
signor Don Quixote may display his valour." — '' It is my intention 
so to do," said Don Quixote ; " but be pleased gentlemen, to give 
me leave, for it is time, to go to bed, and place me among the 
number of your best friends and faithful servants." — '* And me 
too," added Sancho, " perhaps I may be good for something." 

S7S These obscene and ridiculous details are found principally in chapters XV., 
XVI.,¿XV11., XVIII. and XIX. 

^'9 The description of this ring-race is in chapter XI. 



Having taken leave of one another, Don Quixote and Sancho 
retired to their chamber, leaving Don Juan and Don Gerónimo 
astonished at the mixture they had displayed of wit and madness. 
They verily believed these were the true Don Quixote and Sancho 
and not those described by the Aragonese author. 

Don Quixote got up very early ; and, tapping at the partition of 
the other room, he again bade his new friends adieu ; Sancho paid 
the innkeeper most magnificently, and advised him to brag less of 
the provisions of his inn, or to provide it better in future." 







T was a delightfully cool 
morning and the day pro- 
mised to be so too, when 
Don Quixote left the inn, 
after having learned which 
was the most direct road 
to Barcelona, without going 
to Saragossa, so great was 
his desire to give the lie to 
that new historian, who it 
was said, had abused him 
so much. Now it happened \/ 
that in six whole days, 
nothing fell out worth set- 
ting down in writing. At 
the end of these six days, 
as they were going out of the road, . night overtook them among 
some shady oaks or cork-trees ; for on this head Cid Hamet does 
not observe that punctuality he is wont to do in other matters. 
Master and man alighted from their beasts, and, seating themselves 
at the foot of the trees, Sancho, who had had his afternoon's 
collation that day, entered abruptly the gates of sleep. But Don 
Quixote, whose imagination, much more than hunger, kept him 
waking, could not close his eyes. On the contrary, he was hurried 
in thought to and from a thousand places. Now he fancied himself 
in the cavern of Montesinos, now that he saw Dulcinea transformed 
into a country-wench mount upon her ass at a spring ; the next 
moment he fancied he heard the words of the sage Merlin, 

PART ir. CHAP. LX. 391 

declaring to him the conditions to be observed and the despatch 
necessary for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. He was ready to 
run mad to see the lukewarmness and little charity of his squire 
Sancho, who, as he believed, had given himself five lashes only, 
a poor and miserably disproportionate number compared to the 
infinite multitude that still remained due. These reflections caused 
him so much chagrin and indignation, that he spoke thus to 
himself: " If Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot, saying : 
* To cut is the same as to untie,' and became, nevertheless, 
universal lord of all Asia, the same neither more nor less may 
happen now, in the disenchantment of Dulcinea, if I should whip 
Sancho whether he will or not. If in eflect the condition of this 
remedy consists in Sancho's receiving upwards of three thousand 
lashes, what is it to me whether he gives them himself, or somebody 
else for him ? all the question lies in his receiving them, come from 
what hand they will." 

With these thoughts in his mind, he approached Sancho, having 
first taken Rocinante 's reins and adjusted them so that he might 
lash him with them, and began to untruss his points, though it is 
generally thought that he had none but that before, which kept up 
his breeches. But no sooner had he begun than Sancho awoke, 
and said, with staring eyes : " What is the matter ? who is it that 
touches and untrusses me ? " — " It is I," answered Don Quixote, 
" who come to supply your defects, and to remedy my own troubles. 
I come to whip you, Sancho, and to discharge part of the debt you 
stand engaged for. Dulcinea is perishing ; you live unconcerned ; 
I am dying in despair ; therefore untruss of your own accord, for I 
mean to give you, in this solitude, at least two thousand lashes." — 
"Not so," cried Sancho; "pray be quiet, or, by the living God, 
the deaf shall hear us. The lashes I stand engaged for must be 
voluntary, and not upon compulsion. At present I have no 
inclination to whip myself ; let it sufiice that I give your worship 
my word to flog and flay myself when I have a disposition to it." — 
" There is no leaving it to your courtesy, Sancho," said Don 
Quixote, " for you are hard-hearted, and though a peasant, of 
very tender flesh." Tlien he struggled with Sancho, and 



endeavoured to untruss him. When Sancho saw this, he got upon 
his legs, and closing with his master, flung his arms about him and, 
tripping up his heels, laid him flat on his back, and setting his 
right knee upon his breast, with his hands he held both his 
master's so fast, that he could neither stir nor breathe. Don 
Quixote cried in a stifled voice : " How, traitor ! do you rebel 

against your master and natural lord ? do you lift up hand against 

him who feeds you 

I neither make nor unmake kings,' 

answered Sancho, '* I only assist myself, who am my own lord^^^. 

If your worship will promise me to be quiet and not meddle with 

whipping me for the present, I will loose you and give you your 

liberty; if not, here thou diest, traitor, enemy to Donna Sancha^^^" 

^^ These words are the same that tradition places in the mouth of the constable 
Duguesclin, when, during the struggle between Pedro the cruel and Henry of Trasta- 
mara, on the plain of Montiel, he aided the latter to trample on the body of Pedro, 
which Henry pierced through with his dagger. 

^^^ Sancho applies to his master the two concluding verses of an ancient romance, 
composed on the tradition of the seven children of Lara (Cane, de Amberes, 
p. 172). Gonzalo Gustos de Lara had married Donna Sancha, the sister of Ruy- 
Velasquez. The latter, to avenge an afifront, delivered to the Moorish king of 
Cordova his brother-in-law and his seven nephews. The father was thrown into 
prison for life, after being served at table with the heads of his seven children. 
However he was enabled to effect his escape through the affection of an Arabian 
woman, and a son whom he had by her avenged his brother's blood by shedding 
that of Ruy-Velasquez. Meeting him one day hunting, he attacked him, and, though 
the other asked for time to fetch his arms, he slew him, answering in the verses 
cited by Sancho : 

Esperesme, Don Gonzalo, 

Iré á tomar las mis armas — 

— El espera que tu diste 

A los infantes de Lara : 

Aqui morirás, traidor. 

Enemigo de Dona Sancha. 



Don Quixote promised him he would. He swore, by the life of 
his thoughts, he would not touch a hair of his garment, and would 
leave the whipping entirely to his own choice and free will, whenever 
he was so disposed. Sancho got up, and went aside some little 
distance ; and, as he was leaning against a tree, he felt something 
touch his head ; lifting up his hands, he laid hold of a couple of 

feet with hose and shoes. Trembling with fear, he went to another 
tree, and the like befel him again. He called out to Don Quixote 
for help. Don Quixote, going to him, asked him what was the 
matter and what frightened him. Sancho answered that all those 
trees were full of men's legs and feet. Don Quixote felt them, 
and immediately guessed what it was. ** You need not be nfraid, 





Sancho," said he, "forthesefeetandlegsaredouhtless those of some 
rohhers and banditti wlio are hanged upon the trees; for here 
the officers of justice hang them, when they can catch them, by 
twenties and thirties at a time. Hence I conjecture I am not far 
from Barcelona." And, in truth, it was as he imagined. 

x/ Day breaking, Don Quixote and Sancho hfted up their eyes, and 
perceived that the clusters hanging on those trees were so many 
bodies of banditti. If the dead had scared them, no less were 
they terrified by the sight of above forty living banditti, who 
surrounded them unawares, bidding them, in the Catalan tongue, 
be quiet and stand still till their captain came. Don Quixote was 
on foot, his horse unbridled, his lance leaning against a tree, and 
in short, defenceless. Therefore he thought it best to cross his 
hands and hang his head, reserving himself for a better opportunity. 
The robbers began rifling the donkey, and stripping him of every 
thing he carried in his wallet. It was fortunate for Sancho that 
he had secured the crowns given him by the duke and those he 
brought from home in a belt about his middle. But these good 
folks would have searched and examined him even to what lay hid 
between the skin and the flesh, had not their captain arrived just 

PART ir. CHAP. LX. 397 

in the nick. He seemed to be about thirty-four years of age, 
robust, above the middle size, of a grave aspect and brown com- 
plexion. He was moimted upon a puissant steed, clad in a green 
coat of mail, and armed with two cases of pistols, of the sort 
commonly called pedreñales ^^2. He saw that his squires (for so 
they call men of that vocation) were going to plunder Sancho Panza. 
He commanded them to forbear, and was instantly obeyed ; so the 
girdle escaped. He wondered to see a lance standing against a tree, 
a target on the ground, and Don Quixote, in armour and pensive, 
with the most sad and melancholy countenance that sadness itself 
could frame. He went up to him : " Be not so dejected, good sir," 
said he ; " you are not fallen into the hands of a cruel Osiris, but 
into those of Roque Guinart, who is more compassionate than 
cruel ^^." — " My dejection," answered Don Quixote, " is not 
upon account of my having fallen into your hands, O valorous 
Roque, whose renown no bounds on earth can limit ; it is for being 
so careless that your soldiers surprised me with my horse unbridled, 
whereas I am bpund by the order of knight-errantry, which I 
profess, to be continually upon the watch, and at all hours my own 
centinel. Let me tell you, illustrious Guinart, had they found me 
upon horseback, with my lance and my target, it had not been very 
easy for them to have made me surrender, for I am Don Quixote 
de la Mancha, he of whose exploits the whole globe is full." 

Roque Guinart presently perceived that Don Quixote's infirmity 
had in it more of madness than valour ; and, though he had sometimes 
heard him spoken of, he never took what was published of him for 
truth, nor could he persuade himself that such a humour should 

*** These were small muskets, called by this name of pedreñales from the 
circumstance of their being fired, not with a match, like arquebuses, but with a flint 

^^ In Cervantes' time, Catalonia, the most ancient province of Spain, was 
desolated by the enmities of families, which frequently induced young people of 
quality, guilty of a revengeful murder, to join banditti. The Niarros and the 
l^udelis at that day, divided Barcelona, as the Capidetti and Montecchi had divided 
Ravenna. A partisan of Niarros, obliged to take shelter in flight, placed himself at 
the head of a band of robbers. He was called Roque Gainart, or Guinart, or 
Guiñarte ; but his real name was Pedro Rocha Guinarda. He was a brave and 
generous young man, as described by Cervantes, and had in liis time, in Catalonia, 
the same reputation as that enjoyed in our time, in Andalusia, by the famous Joa6 
Maria. He is cited in the memoirs of Phillip de Commines. 



reign in the heart of man. Therefore he was extremely glad he 
had met with him, to be convinced near at hand of the truth of 
what he had heard at a distance. *' Be not concerned, valorous 
knight," said he, " nor look upon this accident as a piece of sinister 
fortune. It may chance, among these turnings and windings, that 
your crooked lot may be set to rights, for Heaven, by strange, 
and by men unheard-of, inscrutable ways, raises those that are 
fallen and enriches the poor." 

Don Quixote was about to return him thanks, when they heard 
behind them a noise like that of a troop of horse. It however 
was occasioned by one only, upon which came, riding at full speed, 
a youth seemingly about twenty years of age, clad in a green 
damask doublet with gold lace trimming, trousers, a loose coat, his 
hat cocked in the Walloon fashion, with strait waxed boots, gilt spurs, 
dagger and sword, a small carabine in his hand and a brace of pistols 
by his side. Roque turned about his head at the noise, and saw 
this handsome personage, who said, as he drew near : '* In quest of 
you I come, O valorous Roque, hoping to find in you, if not a 
remedy, at least some alleviation of my misfortune. And, not to 
keep you in suspense, because I perceive you do not know me, I 
will tell you who I am. I am Claudia Geronima, daughter of 
Simon Forte, your intimate friend, and particular enemy to 
Clauquel Torrellas, who is also yours, being of the contrary faction. 
You know that this Torrellas has a son called Don Vincente 
Torrellas, or at least was called so not two hours ago. He then 
(to shorten the story of my misfortune I will tell you in a few 
words what he has brought upon me) I say, saw and courted me ; 
I hearkened to him and fell in love with him, imknown to my 
father ; for there is no woman, be she never so retired or reserved, 
but has time enough to effect and put in execution her unruly 
desires, when under the influence of passion. In short, he prom- 
ised to be my spouse, and I gave him my word to be his, vdthout 
proceeding any farther. Yesterday, I was informed that, forgetting 
his obligations to me, he had contracted himself to another, and 
that this day was to witness his nuptials. This news confounded 
me, and I lost all patience. My father happening to be out of 

PART II. — CHAP. LX. 399 

town, 1 had an opportunity of putting myself into this garb and, 
spurring this horse, I overtook Don Vincente about a league hence. 
There, without urging reproaches or hearing excuses, I discharged 
this carabine and these pistols, and, as I believe, lodged more than 
a brace of balls in his body, opening a door through which my 
honour, distained in his blood, might issue out. I left him among 
his servants, who durst not, or could not, interpose in his defence. 
I am come to seek you that by your means I may escape to France, 
where I have relations, and to entreat you likewise to protect my 
father, that the numerous relations of Don Vincente may not dare 
to take a cruel revenge upon him." 

Roque, surprised at the gallantry, bravery, fine shape and 
strange adventure of the beautiful Claudia, hastened to answer: 
" Come madam, and let us see whether your enemy be dead. We 
will then consider what is most proper to be done for you." Don 
Quixote bad listened attentively to what Claudia had said, and 
what Roque Guinart answered. "Let no one trouble himself 
about defending this lady," he now cried. " I take it upon myself. 
Give me my horse and my arms, and stay here for me while I go 
in quest of this knight, and, dead or alive, make him fulfil his 
promise made to such ravishing beauty." — " Nobody doubts that," 
added Sancho, " for my master has a special hand at match-making. 
Less than a fortnight ago, he obliged another person to marry, 
who also denied the promise he had given to another maiden ; and 
had not the enchanters who persecute him changed his true shape 
into a lacquey, at this very hour that same maiden would not have 
been one." Guinart, who was more intent upon Claudia's 
business than the reasoning of master and man, understood them 
not, and, commanding his squires to restore to Sancho all they had 
taken from his ass, he gave them orders to retire to the place where 
they had lodged the night before ; presently he went off with 
Claudia, in all haste, in quest of the wounded or dead Don 
Vincente. They came to the place where Claudia had come up 
with her lover ; but they found nothing there but blood newly spilt. 
Looking round about them as far as they could extend their sight, 
they discovered some people upon the side of a hill, and guessed 



(as indeed it proved) that it must be Don Vincente, whom his 
servants were carrying off, alive or dead, in order either to his cure 
or his burial. They made all the haste they could to overtake 
them ; which they easily did, the others going but softly. They 
found Don Vincente in the arms of his servants, and with a low 
and feeble voice, desiring them to let him die there, for the anguish 
of his wounds would not permit him to go any farther. Claudia 
and Roque, flinging themselves from their horses, drew near. The 
servants were startled at the sight of Guinart, and Claudia was 
still more disturbed at that of Don Vincente. Dividing betwixt 

tenderness and cruelty, she approached him, and, taking hold of his 
hand : " If you had given me this, according to our contract," said 

PART II. — CHAP. LX. 401 

she, " you had not been reduced to this extremity." The wounded 
gentleman opened his ahnost closed eyes, and, knowing Claudia, he 
said : "I perceive fair and mistaken lady, that to your hand I owe 
my death. It is a punishment neither merited by me nor due to 
my wishes, for neither my desires nor my actions could or would 
offend you." — " Is it not true then," cried Claudia, " that this very 
morning you were going to be married to Leonora, daughter of 
the rich Balbastro ? " — " No, in truth," answered Don Vincente ; 
" my evil fortune must have carried you that news, to excite your 
jealousy to bereave me of life, which since I leave in your hands 
and between your arms, I esteem myself happy. To assure you of 
this truth, take my hand and receive me for your husband, if you 
are willing. I can give you no greater satisfaction for the injury 
you imagine you have received." , 

Claudia pressed his hand, and so wrung her own heart, that she 
fell into a swoon upon the bloody bosom of Don Vincente, and he 
into a mortal paroxysm. Roque was confounded, and knew not 
what to do. The servants ran for water to fling in their faces, and 
bringing it, sprinkled them with it. Claudia returned from her 
swoon, but not Don Vincente from his paroxysm ; it put an end to 
his life. When Claudia became conscious that her sweet husband 
was no longer alive, she broke the air with her sighs, and wounded 
the heavens with her complaints ; she tore her hair and gave it to 
the winds, disfigured her face with her own hands, with all the 
signs of grief and affliction that can be imagined to proceed from a 
sorrowful heart. " O cruel and inconsiderate woman ! " cried she, 
" with what faciUty wert thou moved to put so evil a thought in 
execution ! O raging force of jealousy, to what a desperate end dost 
thou lead those who harbour thee in their breasts ! O my husband, thy 
unhappy lot in being mine alone sent thee, for thy bridal bed, to 
the grave ! " Such and so bitter were the lamentations of Claudia, 
that they extorted tears from the eyes of Roque, unaccustomed to 
shed them upon any occasion. The servants wept ; Claudia fainted 
away at every step, and all around seemed to be a field of sorrow 
and misfortune. 

Finally, Roque Guinart ordered Don Vincente's servants to carry 
VOL. Hi. 3 E 



the body to the place where his father dwelt, which was not far off, 
there to give it burial. Claudia told Roque she would retire to a 
nunnery, of which her aunt was abbess, where she designed to end 
her life in the company of a better and an eternal spouse. Roque 
applauded her good intention. He offered to bear her company 
whithersoever she pleased, and to defend her father against Don 
Vincente's relations, and all who should desire to hurt him. Clau- 
dia would by no means accept of his company, and thanking him 
for his offer in the best manner she could, took her leave of him 
weeping. Don Vincente's servants carried off his body, and Roque 
returned to his companions. Thus ended the loves of Claudia Ge- 
ronima. But we cannot be surprised, since the web of her doleful 
history was woven by the cruel and irresistible hand of a blind 

Roque Guinart found his squires in the place he had appointed 
them, and Don Quixote among them, mounted upon Rocinante, 
and making a speech, wherein he was persuading them to leave that 
kind of life, so dangerous both to soul and body. But most of them 
being Gascons, a rude and disorderly sort of people, Don Quixote's 
harangue made little or no impression upon them. Roque, on his 
arrival, demanded of Sancho Panza whether they had returned and 
restored him all the moveables and jewels his folks had taken from 
his ass. Sancho answered they had, all but three night-caps which 
were worth three cities. " What does the fellow say ?" cried one of 
the by-standers ; " I have them, and they are not worth three reals." 
— " That is true," returned Don Quixote ; " but my squire values 
them at what he has said, for the sake of the person who gave them." 
Roque Guinart ordered them to be restored immediately ; and, 
commanding his men to draw up in a line, he caused all the clothes, 
jewels and money, and, in short, all they had plundered since the 
last distribution, to be brought before them ; then, having made a 
short estimate, and reduced the undivideables into money, he shared 
it among his company with so much equity and prudence, that he 
neither went beyond nor fell an atom short of distributive justice. 
This done, and all considering themselves well recompensed and 
satisfied, Roque said to Don Quixote : " If this punctuality were 



not strictly observed, there would be no living among these fellov^s." 
Sancho directly added : " By what I have seen, justice is so good a 
thing that it is necessary even among thieves themselves." One of 
the squires, hearing his words, lifted up the butt-end of a musket, 
and had doubtless laid open Sancho's head, had not Roque Guinart 


:zT j^- ^ 

called out aloud to him to desist. Sancho was frightened, and re- 
solved not to open his lips while he continued among those people. 
At this juncture arrived two or three of the squires who were 
posted as centinels on the highway to observe travellers, and give 
notice to their chief of what passed. " Not far from hence, signor," 
said one, " in the road that leads to Barcelona, comes a great com- 
pany of people." — " Have you distinguished," replied Roque, " whe- 
ther they are such as seek us, or such as we seek ?" — " Such as we 
seek," answered the squire. " Then sally forth," cried Roque, 
"and bring them hither presently, without letting one escape." 
They obeyed, and Don Quixote, Sancho and Roque, remaining by 
themselves, stood expecting what the squires would bring. In this 
interval, Roque said to Don Quixote: "This life of ours must 



needs seem very new to signer Don Quixote, new adventures, new 
accidents, all full of danger. I do not wonder it should appear so 
to you, for, I confess truly to you, there is no kind of life more 
unquiet nor more full of alarms than ours. I was led into it by I 
know not what desire of revenge, which has force enough to disturb 
the most sedate minds. I am naturally compassionate and good- 
natured ; but, as I have said, the desire of avenging an injury done 
me so bears down my good inclination, that I persevere in this 
state, in spite of knowing better. And as one sin is followed by a 
second, and abyss calls to abyss, my revenges have been so linked 
together, that I not only take upon me my own, but those of other 
people. But it pleases God that, though I see myself in the midst 
of this labyrinth of confusion, I do not lose the hope of getting out 
of it, and arriving at last in a safe harbour." 

Don Quixote was astonished to hear Roque talk such good and 
sound sense ; for he thought that, amongst those of his trade of 
robbing, murdering and way -laying, there could be none capable of 
serious reflection. " Signor Roque," said he, " the beginning of 
health consists in the knowledge of the distemper, and in the 
patient's being willing to take the medicines prescribed him by the 
physician. You are sick, you know your disease, and Heaven, or 
rather God, who is our physician, will apply such medicines to heal 
you as usually heal gradually, by little and little, and not suddenly 
and by miracle. Besides, sinners of good understanding are nearer 
to amendment than foolish ones ; and, since by your discourse you 
have shewn your prudence, it remains only that you be of good 
cheer, and hope for a bettering of your conscience. If you would 
shorten the way, and place yourself with ease in that of your salva- 
tion, come with me, I will teach you to be a knight-errant ; in this 
profession, there are so many troubles and disasters that, being 
placed to the account of penance, they will carry you to Heaven in 
the twinkling of an eye." Roque smiled at the advice of Don 
Quixote, to whom, changing the discourse, he related the tragical 
adventure of Claudia Geronima, which extremely grieved Sancho, 
who did not dislike the beauty, freedom and sprightliness of the 
young lady. 

PART II. — CHAP. LX. 405 

By this time the squires returned with their prize. They 
brought with them two gentlemen on horseback, two pilgrims on 
foot, a coach full of women, and about six servants, some on foot 
and some on horseback, accompanying them, with two muleteers 
belonging to the gentlemen. The squires enclosed them round, 
vanquishers and vanquished keeping a profound silence, waiting till 
the great Roque Guinart should speak. The latter asked the 
gentlemen who they were, whither they were going, and what 
money they had with them. One of them answered : " Sir, we 
are two captains of Spanish foot ; our companies are at Naples, and 
we are going to embark in four galleys, which are said to be at 
Barcelona, with orders to pass over to Sicily. We have about two 
or three hundred crowns, with which we think ourselves rich and 
happy, since the usual penury of soldiers allows no greater 
treasures." Roque put the same question to the pilgrims. They 
replied that they were going to embark for Rome, and that between 
them both they might have about sixty reals. Roque demanded 
also who the ladies were in the coach, where they were going, and 
what money they carried. One of the domestics on horseback 
answered : " The persons in the coach are my lady Donna 
Guiomar de Quiñones, wife of the regent of the vicarship of 
Naples, a little daughter, a waiting-maid, and a duenna. Six 
servants of us accompany them, and the money they carry is six 
hundred crowns." — "So that," returned Roque Guinart, "we 
have here nine hundred crowns, and sixty reals. My soldiers are 
sixty ; see how much it comes to a piece, for I am by no means a 
ready reckoner." The brigands, hearing him say this, lifted up 
their voices, and began to shout: "Long live Roque Guinart, in 
spite of all the blood-hounds who seek his destruction." The 
captains shewed signs of affliction, the lady regent was dejected, 
and the pilgrims were not at all pleased at seeing the confiscation 
of tlieir eíTects. Roque held them thus some moments in suspense 
but he would not let their sorrow, which might be seen a musket- 
shot off, last any longer. Turning to the captains he said : " Be 
pleased, gentlemen, to do me the favour to lend me sixty crowns, 
and you, lady regent, fourscore, to satisfy this squadron of my 




followers ; for * the abbot must eat that sings for his meat.' Then 
you may depart free and unmolested, with a pass I will give you 
that if you meet with any more of my squadrons, which I keep in 
several divisions up and down in these parts, they may not hurt you. 
It is not my intention to wrong soldiers, nor any woman, 
especially if she be of quality." Infinite and well expressed were 
the thanks the captains returned Roque for his courtesy and 
liberality ; for such they esteemed his leaving them part of their 
money. Donna Guiomar de Quiñones was ready to throw herself 
out of her coach to kiss the feet and hands of the great Roque ; but 
he would in no wise consent to it, and rather begged pardon for 
the injury he was forced to do them in compliance with the precise 
duty of his wicked office. The lady regent ordered one of her 
servants immediately to give the eighty crowns, her share of the 
assessment, and the captains had already disbursed their sixty. 
The pilgrims were going to offer their little all ; but Roque bid 
them stay a little, and, turning about to his men, he said : " Of 
these crowns, two fall to each man's share, and twenty remain : let 
ten be given to these pilgrims, and the other ten to this honest 
squire, that he may have it in his power to speak well of this 
adventure." Pen, ink and paper being brought, with which he 
was always provided, Roque gave them a pass directed to the 
chiefs of his bands. He then took leave of them, and gave them 
their liberty, all in admiration at his generosity, his graceful 
deportment and strange proceedings, and looking upon him rather 
as an Alexander the Great, than a notorious brigand. One of the 
squires said, in his Gascon and Catalan jargon : " This captain of 
our's is fitter for a friar than a bandit ; but, in future, if he has a 
mind to shew himself liberal, let it be of his own goods, and not 
of ours." The wretch spoke not so low but Roque overheard him, 
and drawing his sword, he almost cleft his head in two, saying : 
" Thus I chastise the ill-tongued and saucy." All the rest were 
frightened, and no one durst utter a word ; such was the awe and 
obedience they were held in. 

Roque went a litttle aside and wrote a letter to a friend of his 
at Barcelona, acquainting him that the famous Don Quixote de la 

PART ir. — CHAP, LX. 407 

Mancha, that knight-errant of whom so many things were 
reported, was in his company, giving his friend to understand 
that he was the most pleasant and most ingenious person in 
the world. He added that four days after, on the feast of Saint 
John the Baptist, he would appear on the strand of the city armed 
at all points, mounted on his horse Rocinante, and his squire 
Sancho upon his ass. " Do not fail," he concluded, " to give 
notice of this to my friends the Niarri, that they may make merry 
with the knight. I would fain my enemies the Cadells may 
not partake of the diversion ; but this is impossible, because the 
wild extravagancies and distraction of Don Quixote, together with 
the witty sayings of his squire Sancho Panza, cannot fail to give 
general pleasure to all the world. Roque despatched this epistle 
by one of his squires, who, changing the habit of an outlaw for 
that of a peasant, entered into Barcelona and delivered the letter 
into the hands of the person to whom it was directed. 





ON Quixote staid three days 
and three nights with Roque; 
and, had he staid three hundred 
years, he would not have wanted 
subject matter for observation 
and admiration in his way of 
life. Here they lodged, there 
they dined ; one while they flew, 
not knowing why, another they 
lay in wait, they knew not for 
whom. They slept standing, with interrupted slumbers, and shift- 
ing from one place to another. They were perpetually sending out 
spies, posting centinels, blowing the matches of their muskets, 
though they had but few, most of them making use of firelocks. 
Roque passed the nights apart from his followers, in places to them 
unknown ; for the many proclamations the viceroy of Barcelona had 

PART II. — CHAP. LXÍ. 409 

published against him, kept him in fear and disquiet ^s*. He durst 
not trust anybody, and was apprehensive lest his own men should 
either kill or deliver him up to justice for the price set upon his 
head : a life truly miserable and irksome. 

In short, Roque, Don Quixote and Sancho, attended by six 
squires, set out for Barcelona, through unfrequented ways and co- 
vered paths. They arrived upon the strand on the eve of St. John, 
in the night ; and Roque, having embraced Don Quixote and San- 
cho, to whom he gave the ten crowns promised, which he had not 
hitherto given him, left them after the exchange of a thousand 
offers of service. Roque having returned, Don Quixote awaited 
the day on horseback, just as he was, and it was not long before the 
face of the beautiful Aurora began to discover itself through the 
balconies of the east, rejoicing the grass and flowers. Nearly at the 
same instant, the ears also were rejoiced by the sound of abundance 
of fifes and kettle-drums, the jingling of morrice-bells, and the 
trampling of horsemen seemingly coming out of the city. Aurora 
gave place to the sun, which rose by degrees from below the horizon, 
with a face round as a target. Don Quixote and Sancho, casting 
their eyes around on every side, saw the sea, which till then they 
had never seen. It appeared to them very large and spacious, 
somewhat broader than the lagunes of Ruidera, which they had seen 
in La Mancha. They saw the galleys lying close to the shore, 
which, taking in their awnings, appeared covered with streamers 
and pennants trembling in the wind, and kissing and brushing the 
water. From within them sounded clarionets and trumpets, 
filling the air all around with sweet and martial music. Presently 
the galleys began to move and to skirmish on the still waters, while 
at the same time, an infinite number of gentlemen, mounted on 
beautiful horses and attended with gay liveries, issued forth from 
the city. The soldiers on board the galleys discharged several 
rounds of cannon, which were answered by those on the walls and 

••* From the word bando, used to command attention by the public crier, is 
derived the word bandolero, which signifies a brigand upon whose head a price is 
set. The name of bandit also, may possibly come from the word ban. 

VOL. III. 3 F 





forts of the city, and the heavy artillery rent the wind with dread- 
ful noise, which was echoed back by the cannon on the forecastles 
of the galleys. The sea was calm, the land jocund, and the air 
bright, only now and then obscured a little by the smoke of the 
artillery; all these things together seeming to rejoice and put in 
good humour the entire population. Sancho could not imagine 
how those bulks which moved backwards and forwards in the sea 
came to have so many legs. 

At this moment the gentlemen with the liveries came up full 
gallop, with warlike and joyful cries, to the place where Don Quixote 

was standing, wrapped in wonder and surprise. One of them, 
to whom Roque had sent the letter, said in a loud voice to Don 

PART TI. — CHAP. LXI. 411 

Quixote : " Welcome to our city the mirror, the beacon, the polar 
star of all knight-errantry. Welcome, I say, the valorous Don \; 
Quixote de la Mancha ; not the spurious, the fictitious, the apocry- 
phal, lately exhibited among us in lying histories ; but the true, the 
legitimate, the genuine, described to us by Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli, 
the flower of historians." Don Quixote answered not a word, nor 
did the gentlemen wait for any answer ; wheeling about with all 
their followers, they began to caracole and curvet round Don Quix- 
ote, who, turning to Sancho, said : " These people seem to know 
us well ; I will lay a wager they have read our history, and even 
that of the Aragonese lately printed." 

The gentleman who had spoken to Don Quixote resumed : '* Be ^ 
pleased, signor Don Quixote, to come along with us ; for we are all 
very humble servants, and great friends of Roque Guiñar t." — " If 
courtesies beget courtesies," replied Don Quixote, *' yours, good 
sir, is daughter or very near kinswoman to those of the great Roque. 
Conduct me whither you please ; I have no other will but yours, 
especially if you please to employ it in your service." The gentle- 
man answered in expressions no less civil, and enclosing him in the 
midst of them, they all marched with him, to the sound of clarionets 
and drums, towards the city. But, at the entrance of Barcelona, the 
wicked one, who is the author of all mischief, so ordered it that 
some among the boys, who are more wicked than the wicked one 
himself, devised a mischievous trick. Two bold and unlucky 
rogues crowded through the press, and one of them lifting up Dap- 
ple's tail and the other that of Rocinante, they thrust under each a 
handful of briars. The poor beasts felt the new spurs, and by clap- 
ping their tails closer, augmented their smart to such a degree that, 
after several plunges, they flung their riders to the ground. Don 
Quixote, out of countenance and affronted, hastened to free his 
horse's tail from this new plumage, and Sancho did the like by his 
ass. The horsemen who conducted Don Quixote would have chas- 
tised the insolence of the boys ; but it was impossible, for they were 
soon lost among above a thousand more that followed them. Don 
Quixote and Sancho mounted again ; and, still accompanied by the 
acclamations and music, arrived at their conductor's house, which 



was large and fair, such in sort as became a gentleman of fortune ; 
and there we will leave them for the present, for so Cid Hamet Ben- 
Engeli will have it. 

\>\ I ' r 





oviNG mirth in a decent and civil way, 
a rich and discreet gentleman was Don 
Quixote's host, and he was called 
Don Antonio Moreno. When he saw 
Don Quixote in his house, he began to 
contrive means, without prejudice to his 
guest, to take advantage of his madness ; 
for jests that hurt are no jests ; neither 
are those pastimes good for any tiling, 
which turn to the detriment of a third 
person. The first thing, therefore, he 
did was to cause Don Quixote to be 
disarmed, and exposed to view in his 
strait chamois doublet, all soiled by 
the rust on the inside of his armour, as we 
have already so frequently described. The knight was conducted 
to a balcony which looked into one of the chief streets of the 


city, in sight of the populace and of the boys, who stood gazhig 
at him as if he had been some strange animal. The cavaliers 
with the liveries began to career it afresh before him, as if for him 
alone, and not in honour of that day's festival, they had provided 
their finery. Sancho was highly delighted, thinking he had found, 
without knowing how or which way, another Camacho's wedding, 
another house like Don Diego de Miranda's, and another castle like 
the duke's. 
/ Several of Don Antonio's friends dined with him that day 
They treated Don Quixote with great honour, quite as a knight- 
errant, at which he was so puffed with vain-glory, that he could 
not conceal the pleasure it gave him. Sancho's witty conceits were 
such and so many that all the servants of the house hung as it 
were upon his lips, and so did all who heard him. While they 
were at table, Don Antonio said to Sancho : " We are told here, 
honest Sancho, that you are so great a lover of meat-balls and 
blanc-manger, that, when you have filled your stomach, you stuff 
your pockets with the remainder for the next day ^s^." — " No, sir, 
it is not so," answered Sancho, " your worship is misinformed, for 
I am more cleanly than gluttonous ; and my master Don Quixote, 
here present, knows very well that he and 1 often live eight days 
upon a handful of acorns or hazel-nuts. It is true indeed, if it so 
happens that they give me a heifer, I make haste with a halter ; I 
mean that I eat whatever is offered me, and take the times as I find 
them. Whoever has said that I am given to eat much and am not 
cleanly, take my word for it is very much out ; and I would say 
this in another manner, were it not out of respect to the honourable 
beards here at table." — " In truth," added Don Quixote, " Sancho's 
parsimony and cleanliness in eating deserve to be written and 
engraved on plates of brass, to remain an eternal memorial for ages 
to come. I must confess, when he is hungry, he seems to be 
somewhat of a glutton, for he eats fast, and chews on both sides at 

5^ In the Twelfth Chapter of the Don Quixote of Avellaneda, it is said that 
Sancho received from Don Carlos two dozens of small balls and six other balls of 
blanc-manger, and that, unable to swallow them all at once, he put the remainder in 
his bosom for his next morning's breakfast. 

PART lí. — CHAP. LXII. 415 

once. But, as for cleanliness, he always strictly observes it, and, 
when he was a governor, he learned to eat so nicely that he took 
up grapes, and even the grains of a pomegranate, with the point of 
a fork." — " How! " cried Don Antonio, " has Sancho then been a 
governor?" — "Yes," answered Sancho, "and of an island called 
Barataría. Ten days I governed it, at my own will and pleasure, 
in which time I lost my rest and learned to despise all the 
governments in the world ; I fled from it, and fell into a pit, where 
I looked upon myself as a dead man, and out of which I escaped 
aHve by a miracle." Don Quixote now related minutely all the 
circumstances of Sancho's government, which gave great pleasure 
to the hearers. 

The cloth being taken away, Don Antonio, taking Don Quixote 
by the hand, led him into a distant apartment, in which there was 
no furniture but a table seemingly of jasper, standing upon a foot 
of the same material. On this table there was placed, after the 
manner of the busts of the Roman emperors, ahead, which seemed 
to be of bronze. Don Antonio walked with Don Quixote up and 
down the room, taking several turns about the table. " Now, 
signor Don Quixote," he then said, " that T am assured nobody is 
within hearing, and that the door is fast, I will tell you the rarest 
adventure, or rather the greatest novelty, that can be imagined, 
upon condition that my communication shall be deposited in the 
inmost recesses of secrecy." — " I swear it shall," answered Don 
Quixote, " and, for farther security, I will clap a grave-stone over 
it. I would have your worship know, signor Don Antonio (Don 
Quixote had learned his host's name), that you are talking to one 
who, though he has ears to hear, has no tongue to speak. There- 
fore you may safely transfer whatever is in your breast into mine, 
and make account you have thrown it into the abyss of silence." — 
" On the faith of this promise," answered Don Antonio, " I will 
raise your admiration by what you shall see and hear, and procure 
myself some relief from the pain I suffer by not having somebody 
to whom to communicate my secrets, which, sooth to say, are not 
to be trusted with everybody." Don Quixote became anxious to 
see how so many precautions would end. Don Antonio taking 



hold of his hand, nitade him pass it over the bronze head, the table 
and the jasper pedestal on which it stood. " This head, signor Don 
Quixote," he then said, " was wrought and contrived by one of the 
greatest enchanters and wizards the world ever saw. He was, I 
believe, a Pole by birth, and a disciple of the famous Escotillo, of 
whom so many wonders are related ^^6. He was here in my house. 

^^ Michael Scotto, of Parma, called by the English Scott, and by the French Scot, 
or Lescot, or VEcossais. He was an astrologer of the thirteenth century, in high 
favour with the emperor Frederick II., to whom he dedicated his Treatise on 
Physiognomy and his other works. Dante makes mention of him in the twentieth 
canto of the Inferno: 

Quell' astro, che ne' flanchi é cosi poco, 

Michele Scotto fu, che veramente \; 

Delle magiche frode seppe il gioco. 
It is related that he frequently invited several persons to dinner, without making 
any preparation whatever for them ; and, when the guests were seated at table, he 
had dishes brought in by spirits. " This," he would say to his company, " comes 
from the king of France's kitchen ; that, from the king of Spain's, etc." (Vide Diet, 
de Bayle, article Scot. ) 



and, for the reward of a thousand crowns, made me this head, 
which has the vh'tue and property of answermg every question 
whispered in its ear. After drawing figures, erecting schemes and 
observing the stars, he brought it at length to the perfection we 

sliall see to-morrow ; it is mute on Fridays, and to-day happening 
to be Friday, we must wait till to-morrow. In the mean while, you 
may bethink yourself what questions you will ask ; for I know by 
experience it tells the truth in all its answers." 

Don Quixote wondered at the property and virtue of the head, 
and could scarcely believe Don Antonio. But, considering how 
short a time was set for making the experiment, he would say no 
more, only to thank him for discovering to him so great a secret. 
They went out of the chamber; Don Antonio locked the door 
after him, and they came to the hall, where the rest of the gentlemen 

VOL. in. 3 G 




were standing in a group round Sancho, who had recounted to them, 
in the interval, many of the adventures that had befallen his master. 
In the evening they carried Don Quixote abroad to take the air, 
not armed, but dressed like a citizen, in a long loose garment of 
tawny cloth, which would have made frost itself sweat at that 
season. The servants were ordered to entertain and amuse Sancho, 
so as not to let him go out of doors. Don Quixote rode, not upon 
Rocinante, but upon a large easy-paced mule, handsomely accoutred. 
In dressing him, they contrived unperceived to pin at his back a 
parchment, whereon was written in large letters : * This is Don 
Quixote de la Mancha.' They no sooner began their march, 
than the scroll drew the eyes of all the passengers, and they read 
aloud : " This is Don Quixote de la Mancha." Don Quixote 
wondered that every body who saw him named and knew him. 

Turning to Don Antonio, who was riding by his side, he said : 
"Great is the prerogative inherent in knight-errantry, since it 
makes all its professors known and renowned throughout the 
limits of the earth. Pray observe, signor Antonio, how the very 
boys of this city know me, without ever having seen me." — " It is 
true, signor Don Quixote," answered Don Antonio. "As fire 


cannot be hidden or confined, so virtue will be known ; and that 
which is obtained by the profession of arms shines with a brightness 
and lustre superior to that of all others." 

Now it happened that, as Don Quixote was riding along with 
the applause aforesaid, a Castihan, who had read the label on his 
shoulders, Hfted up his voice and said in his hearing : *' The devil 
take thee for Don Quixote de la Mancha ! However are you got hither, 
without being killed by the infinite number of bangs you have had 
upon your back ? you are mad ; and were you so alone, and within 
the doors of your own folly, the mischief would be less ; but you 
have the property of converting into fools and madmen all that 
converse or have any communication w^ith you. Witness these 
gentlemen, who accompany you. Get you home, fool ; look after 
your estate, your wife and children, and leave oif these follies which 
wormeat your brain, and skim oflf the cream of your understanding." 
— " Brother," rejoined Don Antonio, " keep on your way, and do 
not be giving counsel to those who do not ask it. Signor Don 
Quixote de la Mancha is perfectly sane, and we who bear him 
company are not fools. Virtue challenges respect wherever it is 
found. Now begone in an evil hour, and meddle not where you 
are not called." — " Before Heaven," answered the Castilian, " your 
worship is in the right ; for to give advice to this good man, is 
throwing pearls before swine. Yet it grieves me very much 
that the good sense it is said this madman discovers in all other 
things, should run to waste through the channel of his knight- 
errantry. But the evil hour your worship wished me be to 
me and to my descendants, if from this day forward, though I 
should live more years than Methusalera, I give advice to anybody, 
though even I should be asked." 

The adviser departed, and the procession went on. But the boys y^ 
and the people crowded so to read the scroll that Don Antonio was 
forced to take it off, under pretence of removing something else. 
Night came, and the processioners returned home, where was a 
numerous assemblage of ladies ^^^^ for Don Antonio's wife, who was 

^ Then called a tarao. 



a lady of distinction, cheerfiil, beautiful and discreet, had invited^ 
several of her friends to honour her guest, and to entertain them 
with his unheard-of madness. Several ladies came ; they supped 
splendidly, and the ball began about ten o'clock at night./ Among 
the ladies, there were two of an arch and pleasant disposition, who, 
though they were very modest, yet behaved with more freedom than 
usual, that the jest might divert without giving distaste. They 
were so eager to take Don Quixote out to dance, that they teazed 
not only his body, but his very soul. It was a curious sight to be- 

hold the figure of Don Quixote, long, lank, lean and yellow, strait- 
ened in his clothes, awkward, and especially not at all nimble. The 
ladies courted him as it were by stealth ; and he disdained their 
advances by stealth too. But, finding himself hard pressed by their 
courtsliip, he exalted his voice, and cried: "Fagite, partes advers<z^^^ ; 
leave me to my repose, ye unwelcome thoughts; avaunt, ladies, 

^ A form of exorcism used by the Catholic Church, which had passed into 
common language. 



with your desires, for she who is queen of mine, the peerless Dul- 
cinea del Toboso, will not consent that any others' but hers should 
subject and subdue me." So saying, he sat down in the middle of 
the hall upon the floor, quite fatigued and disjointed by his violent 
exercise. Don Antonio ordered the servants to carry him to bed, 
and the first who lent a helping hand was Sancho. " What, in 
Heaven's name, master of mine, put you upon dancing ? Think 
you that all who are valiant must be caperers, or all knights-errant 
dancing-masters? If you think so, I say you are mistaken. I 

know those who would sooner cut a giant's wind-pipe than a caper. 
Had you been for the shoe-dance, I would have supplied your 
place ; for I slap it away like an eagle. But, as for regular dancing, 
I know nothing about it." With this and like talk Sancho fur- 
nished matter of laughter to the company, and laid his master in 
bed, covering him up stoutly, to sweat out the cold he might have 
got by his dancing. 

The next day, Don Antonio thought fit to make experiment of 
the enchanted head. In company with Don Quixote, Sancho, two 
other friends, and the two ladies who had worried Don Quixote in 
dancing, and who had staid that niglit with Don Antonio's wife, 
he locked liimself up in the room where the head stood. He told 
them the property it had, charged them all with the secret, and told 
them this was the first day of his trying the virtue of that enchanted 
liead^^^. Nobody but Don Antonio's two friends knew the trick 

*** Alluding to u passage of Avcllaucda, in Chap. XII. 



of the enchantment, and, if Don Antonio had not first discovered it 
to them, they also would have been as much surprised as the rest, 
it being impossible to avoid it ; so cunningly and curiously was the 
machine contrived. 

The first who approached the ear of the head was Don Antonio 
himself. He said in a low voice, yet not so low but he was over- 
heard by them all : " Tell me, head, by the virtue inherent in thee, 
what am I now thinking of ? " The head answered, without moving 
its lips, in a clear and distinct voice, so as to be heard by every 
body : " I am no judge of thoughts." On hearing this all present 
were astonished, especially since, neither in the room nor anywhere 
about the table, was there any human creature that could answer. 
" How many of us are here?" demanded Don Antonio. "You 
and your wife," answered the head in the same key, " with two 
friends of yours, and two of hers, and a famous knight called Don 
Quixote de la Mancha, with a certain squire of his, Sancho Panza 
by name." The astonishment now redoubled ; everybody's hair 
stood on end with terror. Don Antonio, stepping aside to 
some distance from the head, said : " This is enough to assure me 
I was not deceived by him who sold you to me, sage head, speaking 
head, answering and admirable head. Let somebody else go and 
ask it what they please." As women are commonly in haste and 
inquisitive, the first who went up to it was one of the two friends 
of Don Antonio's wife. "Tell me, head," said she, "what shall I 
do to be very handsome ? " — " Be very modest," was the answer. 
"I ask you no more," said the querist. Then her companion 
came up, and said : "I would know, head, whether my husband 
loves me or not." — " You may easily know that by his usage of 
you," was the reply. The married woman drew back, saying : " The 
question might very well have been spared ; for in reality a man's 
actions are the best interpreters of his affections." Then one of 
Don Antonio's two friends went and asked : " Who am I ? " The 
answer was : " You know." — " I do not ask you that," answered 
the gentleman, " but only whether you know me ? " — " I do," replied 
the head : " you are Don Pedro Noriz." — " I desire to hear no 
more," said Don Pedro, "since this is suificient, O head, to 


convince me that you know everything." Then the other friend 
stepped up, and demanded : " Tell me, head, what desires has my 
eldest son and heir ? " — " Have I not told you already," ran the 
answer, " that I do not judge of thoughts ? Yet I can tell you that 
your son's desire is to bury you." — " It is even so," returned the 
gentleman ; " I see it with my eyes, touch it with my finger ; I ask 
no more questions." 

Then Don Antonio's wife approached, and said : " I know not, 

head, what to ask you. I would only fain know of you whether 

1 shall be blessed with my dear husband many years ? " — " You 
shall," was the reply, " for his good constitution and his temperate 
way of living promise many years of life, which several are wont to 
shorten by intemperance." 

Next approached Don Quixote, and said : " Tell me, O an- 
swerer, was it truth, or was it a dream, what I related as having 
befallen me in the cavern of Montesinos ? Will the whipping of 
Sancho, my squire, be certainly fulfilled ? Will the disenchantment 
of Dulcinea be effected ? " — " As to the business of the cavern,'* it 
was answered, " there is much to be said. It has something of both 
truth and error; Sancho's whipping will go on but slowly; the 
disenchantment of Dulcinea will be brought about in due time." 
— " I desire to know no more," returned Don Quixote : " so that I 
may see Dulcinea disenchanted, I shall make account that all the 
good fortune I desire comes upon me at a stroke." 

The last querist was Sancho, and his question was this : " Head, 
shall I peradventure get another government ? Shall T quit the 
penurious life of a squire ? Shall I return to see my wife and 
children ? " It was answered : " You shall govern in your own 
house, and, if you return to it, you shall see your wife and children ; 
and, quitting service, you shall cease to be a squire." — " Very good, 
in faith ! " cried Sancho Panza. " I could have told myself as much 
and the prophet Pero Grullo could have told me no more^^." — 

"^ Tlicy say in Spain the Prophecies of Pero Grullo, the same as the Vfrité» de 
M. de La Paliste oí the French. 



" Beast," retorted Don Quixote, " what answer would you have ? 
Is it not enough that the answers this head returns correspond to 
the questions put to it ? " — " Yes, it is enough," answered Sancho ; 
" but I wish it had explained itself better, and told me a little more.'' 

Thus ended the questions and answers, but not the amazement 
of the whole company, excepting Don Antonio's two friends, who 
knew the secret of the adventure. This secret Cid Hamet Ben- 
Engeli proceeds immediately to discover, not to keep the world in sus- 
pense, believing there was some witchcraft or extraordinary mystery 
concealed in that head. Therefore he says that Don Antonio Mo- 
reno procured it to be made in imitation of another head he had 
seen at Madrid, made by a statuary for his own diversion at the 
expense of the ignorant. The machine was contrived in the fol- 
lowing simple manner : the table was of wood, painted and varnished 
over like jasper, and the foot it stood upon was of the same, with 
four eagle claws to make it stand firm. The head, resembling that 
of a Roman emperor, and coloured in imitation of bronze, was hol- 
low, and so was the table itself, in which the bust was so exactly 
fixed that no sign of a joint appeared. The foot also was hollow, 
and answered to the neck and breast of the head, and all corre- 
sponded with another chamber just under that where the head 
stood. Through all this hollow of the foot, table, neck and breast 
of the figure aforesaid, went a pipe of tin, which could not be seen. 
The answerer was placed in the chamber underneath, with his mouth 
close to the pipe, so that the voice descended and ascended in clear 
and articulate sounds, as through a speaking-trumpet. Thus it was 
impossible to discover the juggle. A nephew of Don Antonio's, a 
student, acute and discreet, was the respondent, and, as he was in- 
formed beforehand by his uncle who were to be with him that day 
in the chamber of the head, he easily answered, readily and exactly, 
to the first question. To the rest he answered by conjectures, and, 
as a discreet person, discreetly. 

Cid Hamet says farther, that this wonderful machine lasted about 
eight or ten days ; but it being noised abroad in the city that Don 
Antonio kept in his house an enchanted head, which answered to 
all questions, he feared lest it should come to the ears of the watchful 


centinels of our faith. He therefore acquainted the gentlemen 
of the inquisition with the secret, who ordered him to break it in 
pieces, lest the ignorant vulgar should be scandalized at it. But 
still, in the opinion of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, the head 
continued to be enchanted, and an answerer of questions, more 
indeed to the satisfaction of Don Quixote than of Sancho ^Qi. 

The gentlemen of the town, in complaisance to Don Antonio, 
and for the better entertainment of Don Quixote, as well as to give 
him an opportunity of exhibiting his follies, appointed a ring-race 
six days after ; this ring-race however never took place, in conse- 
quence of a certain accident that will be told hereafter. 

Don Quixote in the interval had a mind to walk about the town 
without ceremony and on foot, apprehending that, if he went on 
horseback, he should be persecuted by the boys. So he and San- 
cho, with two servants assigned him by Don Antonio, walked out 
to make the tour. Now it happened that, as they passed through 
a certain street, Don Quixote, lifting up his eyes, saw written over 
a door, in very large letters : *'' Books printed here." He was much 
pleased ; for till then he had never seen a printing-office, and he 
was desirous to know what kind of place it was. In accordingly he 
entered with all his retinue, and saw working off the sheets in one 
place, correcting in another, composing in this, revising in that, in 
short, all the various manual processes to be seen in extensive 
printing-offices. Don Quixote went to one of the cases and asked 
what they had in hand there ; the workman told him ; the knight 
wondered, and went on. He came to another case, and asked the 
compositor what he was doing. " Sir," answered the workman, 
" that gentleman yonder," pointing to a man of a good person and 
appearance, and of great gravity, " has translated an Italian book 
into our Castilian language, and I am composing it here for the 
press." — "What title has the book?" demanded Don Quixote. 

*9i \Vc read frequently of these enchanted heads. Albert the Great constructed 
one, it is said, and the marquis of Villena another. The Tostado makes mention of 
a bronze head that prophesied in the town of Tabara, and which was principally 
consulted to ascertain whether there was any Jew in the place. It would cry in 
that case: Judau* adeiit, until the Israelite was expelled. {Super numer., cap xxi.) 

VOL. III. 3 H 



The author now answered : " Sir, the book in Italian is called Le 
Bagatelle." — " And what answers to Bagatelle in our Castilian ? " 
asked Don Quixote. " Le Bagatelle" rejoined the author, " is as 
if we should say Trijies^^'^, but, though its title be mean, it con- 
tains many very good and substantial things." — " I know a little of 
the Italian language," said Don Quixote, " and value myself upon 
singing some stanzas of Ariosto. But, good sir, pray tell me (and I 
do not say this with design to examine your skill, but out of cu- 
riosity and nothing else), in the course of your writing, have you 
ever met with the word pignata ? " — " Yes, often," replied the 
author. " And how do you translate it in Castilian?" asked Don 
Quixote. " How should I translate it," replied the author, " but 
by the word spit ? " — " Body of me," cried Don Quixote, "what a 
progress has your worship made in the Italian language ! I would 
venture a good wager, that where the Italian says Piace, you say, 
in Castilian, pleases, and that you translate piu by more, su by high, 
and giu by low" — " Most certainly 1 do," rejoined the author, " for 
those you have named are the correct equivalents." — " I dare take an 
oath," cried Don Quixote, "you are not known in the world, which 
is ever an enemy to rewarding florid wits and laudable pains. Oh ! 
what abilities are lost, what geniuses cooped up, what virtues under- 
valued ! But, for all that, I cannot but be of opinion that, trans- 
lating out of one language into another, unless it be from those 
queens of languages, Greek and Latin, is like exposing the wrong 
side of a piece of tapestry. Though the figures are seen, they are 
full of ends and threads which obscure them, and are not seen with 
the smoothness and evenness of the right side. Translating out of 
easy languages shows neither genius nor elocution any more than 
transcribing one paper from another. 1 would not hence infer that 
translating is not a laudable exercise, for a man may be employed 
in things of worse consequence, and less profit ^9^. I except from 

592 In Spanish, los Juguetes. 

.S93 Before Cervantes threw ridicule on the translators from the Italian, Lope 
de Vega had said in his Filomena: "God grant that he may be reduced to live 
to translate books from Italian into Castilian ; for, in my opinion, it is a worse 
crime than taking horses into France." 


tliis account the two celebrated translators, Christopher de Figueroa, 
in his Pastor Fido, and Don Juan de Jauregui, in his Aminta ; in 
which, with rare and remarkable felicity, they bring it in doubt 
which is the translation, and which the original ^9*. But tell me, 
sir, is this book printed on your own account, or have you sold it to 
some bookseller ? " — " I print it on my own account," replied the 
author ; " and I expect to get a thousand ducats by this first im- 
pression. There will be two thousand copies, which will go off, at 
six reals a set, in a trice," — " Mighty well, sir," rejoined Don Quix- 
ote ; " it is plain you know but little of the turns and doubles of the 
booksellers, and the combination there is among them. I promise 
you that when you find the weight of two thousand volumes upon 
your back, it will so depress you that you will be frightened, espe- 
cially if the book be heavy and lack salt." — " What ! sir," retorted 
the author, " would you have me make over my right to the book- 
seller, who, perhaps, will give me three maravedís for it, and even 
think he does me a kindness in giving me so much ^^^ ? Nay, nay ; 
I print no more books to purchase fame in the world; for I am 
already sufficiently known, thank God, by my works. Profit I 
seek, without which fame is not worth a farthing." — " God send you 
good success," answered Don Quixote, and passed on to the next 
case. He observed that they were correcting a sheet of another 
book, entituled : The Light of the Soul^^^. " These kind of books," 
said he, " though there are a great many of them abroad, are those 
that ought to be printed, for there are abundance of sinners up and 
down, and so many benighted persons stand in need of an infinite 
number of lights." He went forward, and saw they were correcting 
another book, and asking its title : " It is entituled," was the an- 
swer, " the Second Part of The Ingemous Hidalgo Don Quixote 
de la Mancha, written by so and so, an inhabitant of Tordesillas." 

59* The Pastor Fido is by Guarini ; the Aminta, by Tnsso. The praise of 
Cervantes is particularly deserved by the metrical translation of Jauregui. 

^ Cervantes had already said of booksellers, in his novel of the Licentiate 

Vidriera : " How they ridicule an author, if he prints at his own expense ! 

Instead of fifteen hundred, they print three thousand copies, and, when the author 
thinks they are selling his own copies, they vend the others." 

^^ Luz del alma cristiana contra la ceguedad e ignorancia^ by Fra Felipe de Meoeses, 
a Dominican monk. Salamanca, 15G4. 



— " T know something of that book," retorted Don Quixote, " and, 
in truth and on my conscience, I thought it had been burnt before 
now, and reduced to ashes for its impertinence. But its Martinmas 
will come, as it does to every hog^^y. Fabulous histories are so far 
good and entertaining as they come near the truth, or the resem- 
blance of it ; and true histories are so much the better by how much 
the truer." So saying, he went out of the printing-office with some 
shew of disgust. 

That same day Don Antonio purposed to carry him to see the 
galleys which lay in the road, which not a little pleased Sancho, 
who had never in his life seen any. Don Antonio gave notice to 
the commander of the four galleys that he would bring his guest, 
the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, that afternoon to see 
them, of whom the commodore, and all the inhabitants of the city, 
had some knowledge. But what befel them there on their visit, 
shall be told in the follovdng chapter. 


In allusion to the proverb : To every pig comes his Martinmas. 





ON Quixote reflected long and 
profoundly on the answer of the 
enchanted head; none of his con- 
jectures however gave him the least 
suspicion of the trick of it, they all 
■ centring in the promise, which he 
looked upon as certain, of the dis- 
enchantment of Dulcinea. He 
rejoiced within himself, believing he 
should soon see the accomplishment 

of it. For Sancho, though he abhorred being a governor, he still 

had, as has been said, a desire again to command and be obeyed ; 

for such is the misfortune power brings along with it, though but 

in jest. 

Finally, that evening, Don Antonio Moreno and his two friends, 

with Don Quixote and Sancho, went to the galleys. The 



commodore of the four galleys, who had notice of the coming of 
the two famous personages Don Quixote and Sancho, no sooner 
perceived them approach the shore, than he ordered all the galleys 
to strike their awnings and the clarions to play. Immediately he 
sent out the pinnace, covered with rich carpets and furnished with 
cushions of crimson velvet. Directly Don Quixote set his foot 
into it, the captain of the galley discharged her stern-chaser, and the 
other galleys did the same ; and when the knight mounted the 
accommodation-ladder, which was shipped on the starboard side, all 
the crew of slaves saluted him, as is customary when a person of 
rank comes on board, with three times Hou, hou, hou^^^. The 
general (for so we shall call him), who was a gentleman of quality 
of Valencia ^99^ g^ye Don Quixote his hand. He embraced the 

Knight, and said : *^ This day will I mark with a white stone, as one 

^98 This was the hurrah of that day. 

599 Don Luis Coloma, count of Elda, commanded the Barcelonian squadron in 
1614, when the expulsion of the Moors was effected. 


of tlie best I ever wish to see while I live, since I have seen signor 
Don Quixote de la Mancha, in whom is comprised and abridged 
the whole worth of knight-errantry." Don Quixote answered him 
in expressions no less courteous, overjoyed to find himself treated 
so like a lord. All the company went aft into the cabin, which was 
elegantly furnished, and seated themselves upon the lockers. The 
boatswain passed along the middle gangway and piped the slaves 
to strip, which was done in an instant. Sancho, on seeing so many 
men in bufí*, was frightened; and still more when he saw them 
spread an awning so swiftly over the galley that he thought all the 
devils from hell were there at work. But all this was tarts and 
cheesecakes to what I am going to relate. Sancho was seated abaft 
on the starboard side near the estanterol, or pillar of the poop, close 
to the rower who pulled the stroke-oar. Instructed what he was 
to do, the aftermost rower laid hold on Sancho and lifted him up in 
his arms; then the whole crew of slaves, standing up and 
beginning from the right side, passed him from bank to bank and 
from hand to hand so swiftly that poor Sancho lost the very sight 
of his eyes, and verily thought a legion of devils was carrying him 
away. The slaves did not loose him till they had brought him aft 
again down the larboard side and replaced him on the taifrail, where 
the poor wretch remained bruised, out of breath, and in a cold 
sweat, without being able to imagine what had befallen him. Don 
Quixote, who beheld Sancho's flight without wings, asked the 
general if that was a ceremony commonly used at people's first 
coming aboard the galleys. '* If so," he added, " for my part, I 
have no intention of making profession'in them, nor inclination to 
perform the like exercise ; and I swear before God that if any one 
dares to lay hand on me to give me such a tossing, I will kick his 
soul out." So saying he stood up, and laid his hand on his sword. 
At that instant they struck the awning, and let go by the run 
the main-yard from the top of the mast to the bottom, with a loud 
noise. Sancho thought the sky was falling ofí* its hinges and 
tumbling upon his head, and, shrinking it down, he clapped it for 
fear between liis legs. Don Quixote knew not what to think ; he 
too quaked, shrugged his shoulders, and changed countenance. 



The slaves ran up the main-yard with the same swiftness and noise 
they had struck it, and all this without speaking a word, as if they 
had neither voice nor breath. The boatswain piped all hands to 
weigh anchor, and, jumping into the middle of the forecastle, with 
a bull's thong began to fly-flap the shoulders of the slaves at the 
oar, and soon got the galley out to sea. 

When Sancho saw so many red feet, for such he took the oars to 
be, move altogether, he said to himself: " These be enchantments 
indeed, and not those my master talks of. But what have these 
unhappy wretches done to be whipped at this rate ? and how has 
this one man, who goes whistling up and down, the boldness to 
whip so many? Ah! I maintain it, this is hell, or purgatory at 
least." Don Quixote, seeing with what attention Sancho observed 
all that passed, said : " Ah, friend Sancho, how quickly and how 
cheaply might you, if you would strip to the waist and place 
yourself among these gentlemen, put an end to the enchantment of 
Dulcinea ! Having so many companions in pain, you would feel but 
little of your own. Besides, perhaps, the sage Merlin would 
take every lash of theirs coming from so good a hand, upon account 
for ten of those you must one day or other give yourself." 

The general would have asked what lashes he spoke of, and 
what he meant by the disenchantment of Dulcinea, when the mast- 
head-man hailed : " The fort of Monjuich makes a signal that 
there is a vessel with oars on the coast, bearing westward." The 
general, on hearing this, leaped upon the middle gang-way and 
said : " Pull away, my lads, do not let her escape us. It must be 
some brigantine belonging to the corsairs of Algiers that the fort 
makes the signal for." The other three galleys pulled alongside the 
captain to receive his orders. The general commanded that two of 
them should put out to sea as fast as they could, while he with the 
other would go along shore, so as to completely cut oíF the vessel's 
escape. The crew plied the oars, impelling the galleys with such 
violence, that they seemed to fly. Those that stood out to sea, 
about two miles off", discovered a sail, which they judged to carry 
about fourteen or fifteen banks of oars, and so it proved to be. 
The vessel discovering the galleys put herself in chase, intending 



and hoping to get away bj her swiftness. But unfortunately for 
her the cap tain -galley happened to be one of the swiftest vessels 
upon the sea. She therefore gained upon the brigantine so fast, 
that the corsairs saw they could not escape. The arraez^^^ 
ordered his men to drop their oars and yield themselves prisoners, 
that they might not exasperate the captain of our galleys. But 
fortune, that would have it otherwise, ordered that just as the 
captain-galley came so near that the corsairs could hear a voice from 
her calling to them to surrender, two drunken Turks, who came in 
the brigantine with twelve others, discharged two muskets with 
which they killed two of our soldiers on the prow. The general, 
seeing that, swore not to leave a man alive he should take in the 
vessel. He attacked with all fury to board her, but she slipped 
away under the oars. The galley ran several knots a-head. They 
in the vessel, perceiving they were got clear, made all the way they 
could while the galley was coming about ; they then again put 
themselves in chase with oars and sails. But their diligence did 
them not so much good as their presumption did them harm ; for 
the captain-galley, overtaking them in little more than half a mile, 
clapped her oars on the vessel, and took them all alive. The two 
other galleys were by this time come up, and all four returned with 
their prize to the strand, where a vast concourse of people stood 
expecting them, desirous to see what they had taken. The general 
cast anchor close in shore, and knowing that the viceroy was in 
the port^^, he ordered out the boat to bring him on board, and 
commanded the main-yard to be lowered immediately to hang 
thereon the arráez, and the rest of the Turks he had taken in her, 
in number about six and thirty persons, all brisk fellows, and most 
of them arquebus-men. 

The general enquired which was the arráez of the brigantine ; 
and one of the captives, who afterwards appeared to be a Spanish 
renegade, answered him in Castilian: "This youth, sir, you see 
here, is our arráez,' pointing to one of the most beautiful and most 

^"^ Commander of an Algerine ship. 

*^^ In 1014, the viceroy of Barcelona was Don Francisco Hurtado de Mendoza, 
marquis of Almazan. 

TOL. III. 3 I 



graceful young men that human imagination could paint. His age, 
in appearance, did not reach twenty years. *' Tell me, ill-advised 
dog," asked the general, "what moved you to kill my soldiers, 
when you saw it was impossible to escape ? Is this the respect 
paid to captain-galleys ? know you not that temerity is not valour, 
and that doubtful hopes should make men daring, but not rash ? *' 
The arráez would have replied, but the general could not hear his 
answer, because he was going to receive the viceroy, who was just 
entering the galley, followed by several of his peojJle and some 
persons from the town. "You have had a fine chase, signor 
general," said the viceroy. " So fine," answered the general, " that 

/~1 lifi Ijfcf-I ^a\ \ 

your excellency shall presently see it hanged up at the yard-arm."- 

PART ir. CHAP. LXIII. 435 

" How so ? " rejoined the viceroy. " Because," replied tlie general, 
" against all law, against all reason and the custom of war, they 
have killed me two of the best soldiers belonging to the galleys, 
and I have sworn to hang every man I took prisoner, especially 
this youth here, who is the arráez of the brigán tine." At the same time 
he pointed to the young man, who stood, with his hands already 
tied and a rope about his neck, expecting death. The viceroy 
looked at him ; and, seeing him so beautiful, so genteel and so 
humble, he was touched with compassion, and felt anxious to save 
him. " Tell me, arráez^'' asked he, " are you a Turk, Moor or 
renegade ? " — " I am," answered the yot^ng man in the Castilian 
tongue, " neither a Turk, nor a Moor, nor a renegade." — ** What 
are you then ? " continued the viceroy. " A Christian woman," 
answered the youth. " A Christian woman, in such a garb and in 
such circumstances," said the viceroy, "is a thing rather to be 
wondered at than believed." — " Gentlemen," said the youth, 
** suspend the execution of my sentence ; it will be no great loss to 
defer your revenge while I recount the story of my life." What 
heart could be so hard as not to relent at these expressions, at least 
so far as to hear what the sad and afflicted youth had to say ? The 
general bid him say what he pleased, but not to expect pardon for 
his great offence. With this license, the youth began in the 
following manner : 

" I was bom of Moorish parents, of that nation, more unhappy 
than wise, so recently overwhelmed under a sea of misfortunes. In 
the current of their calamity, I was carried away by two of my 
uncles into Barbary, it availing me nothing to say I was a Christian, 
as indeed I am, and not of the feigned or pretended, but of the 
true and catholic ones. The discovery of this truth had no influence 
on those who were charged with our unhappy banishment, nor 
would my uncles believe it ; they took it for a lie and an invention 
of mine in order to remain in the country where I was bom. They 
therefore, more by force rather than by my good will, carried me 
away with them. My mother was a Cliristian, and my father a 
discreet Christian too. I sucked in the catholic faith with my 
milk. I was virtuously brought up, and, neither in my language 



nor behaviour, did I, as I thought, give any indication of my being 
a Morisca. My beauty, if I have any, grew up and kept equal 
pace vi^ith these virtues, for such I believe them to be ; and though 
my modesty and reserve were great, I could not avoid being seen by 
a young gentleman called Don Gaspar Gregorio, eldest son of a 
person of distinction, whose estate joins our own. How he saw 
me, how we conversed together, how he became undone for me, and 
I little less for him, would be tedious to relate, especially at a 
time when I am under apprehension that the cruel cord which 
threatens me may interpose between my tongue and my throat. I 
will therefore only say that Don Gregorio resolved to bear me com- 
pany in our banishment. He mingled with the Moors who came 
from other towns, for he understood and spoke their language per- 
fectly ; and, on the journey, he contracted an intimacy with my 
two uncles, who had the charge of me. My father, being a prudent 
and provident person, as soon as he saw the first edict for our 



banisliment, left the town, and went to seek an asylum for us in 
distant lands. He left a great number of pearls and precious stones 
of great value hid and buried in a certain place, known to me only, 
with some money in cruzades and gold doubloons. He commanded 
me in no wise to touch the treasure he left, if peradventure we 
should be banished before he returned. I obeyed, and passed over 
into Barbary with my uncles and other relations and acquaintance. 
The place we settled in was Algiers, which is a perfect hell itself. 
The dey heard of my beauty, and fame told him of my riches, 
which partly proved my good fortune. He sent for me, and asked 


V:.:<^r'ii'ci. t--.fSli •illill- í^aM 

me in what part of Spain I was born, and what money and jewels I 
had brought with me. I told him the name of my native town, and 
added that the jewels and money were buried in it, but that they 
might easily be brought off if I myself went to fetch them. All 
this I told him in hopes that his own covetousnesS| more than my 


beauty, would blind him. While I was with him, information was 
brought him that one of the genteelest and handsomest youths 
imaginable came in my company. I presently understood that they 
meant Don Gaspar Gregorio, whose beauty is far beyond all possi- 
bility of exaggeration. I was greatly disturbed when I considered 
the danger Don Gregorio was in ; for, among those barbarous Turks, 
a handsome boy or youth is more valued and esteemed than a wo- 
man, however beautiful. The dey commanded him to be imme- 
diately brought before him, and asked me if what he was told of 
that youth was true. I, as if inspired by Heaven, answered: * Yes, 
it is true ; but 1 must inform you that he is not a man ; he is a 
woman, like myself. Permit me, I entreat you, to go and dress 
her in her proper garb, that she may shine in full beauty, and 
appear in your presence with less embarrassment.' He consented, 
and said that next day he would talk with me of the manner how 
I might conveniently return to Spain to fetch the hidden treasure. 
I consulted with Don Gaspar ; I told him the danger he ran in 
appearing as a man. I dressed him like a Morisca, and that very 
afternoon introduced him as a woman to the dey, who was in admi- 
ration at the sight of him, and resolved to reserve him for a present 
to the grand seignior. But to prevent the risk he might run in the 
seraglio among his own wives, and distrusting himself, he ordered 
him to be lodged in the house of a Moorish lady of quality, there to 
be kept and waited upon, whither Don Gregorio was instantly con- 
veyed. What we both felt, for I cannot deny that I love him, I 
leave to the consideration of those who tenderly love each other and 
are forced to part. The dey presently gave orders for me to return 
to Spain in this brigantine, accompanied by two Turks, the same 
who killed your soldiers. There came with me also this Spanish 
renegade (pointing to him who spoke first), whom I certainly know 
to be a Christian in his heart, and that he comes with a greater 
desire to stay in Spain than to return to Barbary. The rest of the 
ship's crew are Moors and Turks, who serve for nothing but to row 
at the oar. The two drunken and insolent Turks, disobeying the 
orders given them to set me and the renegade on shore, in the first 
place of Spain we should touch upon, in the habit of Christians, 

PART 11. — CHAP. LXIII. 439 

with which we came provided, would needs first scour the coast 
with the intent to make some prize, fearing, if they should 
land us first, we might be induced by some means or other to 
make known that such a vessel was at sea, and if perchance there 
were any galleys abroad upon this coast, she might be taken. Last 
night we made this shore, not knowing anything of these four gal- 
leys; to-day we were discovered, and what you have seen has 
befallen us. In fine, Don Gregorio remains among the women, in 
woman's attire, and in manifest danger of being undone ; I find my- 
self with my hands tied, expecting to lose that life of which I am 
already weary. This, sir, is the conclusion of my lamentable story, 
as true as unfortunate. What I beg of you, is that you will suffer 
me to die like a Christian ; for, as I have told you, I am no wise 
chargeable with the fault into which those of my nation have fallen." 
Here she held her peace, her eyes swelled with tender tears, which 
were accompanied by many of those of the by-standers. 

"The viceroy, who was of a tender and compassionate disposition, 
without speaking a word went to her, and, with his own hands, 
unbound the cord that tied the beautiful ones of the fair Morisca. 
While she had been relating her strange story, an old pilgrim, who 
came aboard the galley with the viceroy, fastened his eyes on her. 
No sooner had she made an end, than, throwing himself at her feet 
and embracing them, with words interrupted by a thousand sobs 
and sighs, lie cried: " O Ana Felix ! my unhappy daughter ! I am 
thy father Ricote, who am returned to seek thee, not being able to 
live without thee, who art my very soul." At these words, Sancho 
opened his eyes and lifted up his head, which he was holding 
down, ruminating upon his late disgraceful jaunt ; and, looking 
earnestly at the pilgrim, he knew him to be the very Ricote he had 
met with upon the day he left his government. He was persuaded 
the maiden must be his daughter, who, being now unbound, 
embraced her father, mingling her tears with his. Ricote said to 
the general and the viceroy : ** This, sirs, is my daughter, happy in 
her name alone. Ana Felix she is called, with the surname of 
Ricote, as famous for her own beauty as for her father's riches. I 
left my native country to seek, in foreign kingdoms, some shelter 


and safe retreat, and, having found one in Germany, I returned in 
pilgrim's weed, and in the company of some Germans, to fetch 
my daughter and take up a great dpal of wealth I had left buried. 
My daughter I found not, but the treasure I did, and have in my 
possession ; and now, by the strange turn of fortune you have seen, 
I have found the treasure which most enriches me, my beloved 
daughter. If our innocence, if her tears and mine, through the 
uprightness of your justice, can open the gates of mercy, let us 
partake of it, we who never had a thought of oifending you, nor in 
any way conspired with the designs of our people, who have been 
justly banished." — " I know Ricote very well now," said Sancho, 
" and am sure what he says of Ana Felix being his daughter is 
true. But as for the other idle stories of his going and coming, and 
of his having a good or bad intention, I meddle not with them." 

All present wondered at the strangeness of the case. "Each 
tear you let fall," said the governor, " hinders me from fulfilling 
my oath. Live, fair Ana Felix, all the years Heaven has allotted 
you, and let the daring and the insolent undergo the punishment 
their crimes deserve." Immediately he gave orders for the two 
Turks who had killed his soldiers to be hanged at the yard-arm. 
But the viceroy earnestly entreated him not to hang them, their 
fault being rather the effect of madness than of valour. The 
general yielded to the viceroy's request ; for it is not easy to 
execute revenge in cold blood. 

Then they consulted how to deliver Don Gaspar Gregorio from 
the danger in which he was left. Ricote offered above two 
thousand ducats, which he had in pearls and jewels, in furtherance 
of this object. Several expedients were proposed, but none so 
likely to succeed as that of the Spanish renegade whom we have 
mentioned. He offered to return to Algiers in a small bark of 
about six banks, armed with Christian rowers, for he knew where, 
how, and when to land, nor was he ignorant of the house in which 
Don Gaspar was confined. The general and the viceroy were in 
doubt whether they should rely on the renegade or trust him with 
the Christians who were to row at the oar. But Ana Felix 
answered for him, and her father Ricote said he would be answerable 



for the ransom of the Christians if they should be betrayed. 
Matters being thus settled, the viceroy went ashore, and Don 
Antonio Moreno took the Morisca and her father along with him, 
the viceroy charging him to regale and welcome them as much as 
possible, offering, for his own part, whatever his house afforded for 
their better entertainment. The beauty of Ana Felix had quite 
won his heart. 








\ ^av, ,>^vv oud and hearty was the welcome 

'5^^^"^'^ which the wife of Don Antonio 
Vr Moreno gave to Ana Felix on receiv- 
^^^^-pD ing her at her house. She paid her 
every courtesy and kindness, for she 
was enamoured as well of her beauty 
as of her amiable disposition, seeing 
that the Morisca excelled in both 
mind and person. All the people of 
the city flocked to see her, as if they 
had been brought together by ringing the great bell, and to see 
was to admire. 

Don Quixote told Don Antonio that the method they had 
resolved upon for the redemption of Don Gregorio was quite a 
wrong one, there being more danger than probability of success in 
it, and that they would do better to land hira, with his horse and 
arms, in Barbary, whence he would fetch him ofí" in spite of the 
whole Moorish race, as Don Gaiferos had done by his spouse 
Melisendra. " Take notice, sir," said Sancho hearing this, " that 
signor Don Gaiferos rescued his spouse on shore, and carried her 
over-land into France ; but yonder, if peradventure we rescue Don 
Gregorio, we have no way to bring him into Spain, since the sea 
is between." — " For all things, excepting for death, there is a 
remedy," replied Don Quixote. " Let but a vessel come to the 


sea-side, and we will embark in it, though the whole world should 
endeavour to oppose it." — " Your worship," rejoined Sancho, 
" contrives and makes the matter very easy ; but * between the 
saying and the fact is a very large tract ;' I stick to the renegade, 
who seems to me a very honest and good-natured man." — *' Besides," 
added Don Antonio, " if the renegade should miscarry in the business, 
it will be time enough to put in practice the expedient of the great 
Don Quixote's passing over into Barbary." 

Two days after, the renegade set sail in a small bark of six oars 
on a side, manned with a stout crew ; and, two days after that, the 
galleys departed for the Levant, the general having engaged the 
viceroy to give him advice of all that should happen in respect to 
the deliverance of Don Gregorio and the fortune of Ana Felix. 
v/^ Don Quixote having sallied forth one morning to take the air on 
the strand, armed at all points, for, as he was wont to say, his arms 
were his finery^ and his recreation fighting ^^2, and so he was never 
without them, he perceived advancing towards him a knight, armed 
likewise at all points, bearing on his shield the emblazonment of 
a resplendent moon. When the stranger had approached near 
enough to be heard, he raised his voice, and cried, addressing Don 
Quixote : " Illustrious knight, and never-enough-renowned Don 
Quixote de la Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, 
whose unheard-of exploits, perhaps, may bring him to your 
remembrance. I come to enter into combat with you, and to try 
the strength of your arm, in order to make you know and confess 
that my mistress, be she who she will, is incomparably more 
beautiful than your Dulcinea del Toboso. If you do immediately 
and fairly confess this truth, you will save your own life, and me 
the trouble of taking it from you. If you fight and are vanquished 
by me, all the satisfaction I expect is one trifling request : it is, 
that you lay aside arms, forbear going in quest of adventures, and 
retire home to your house for the space of one year, where you 
shall live, without laying hand to your sword, in profound peace 
and profitable repose, which will redound both to the improvement 

** Verses of an old romance, already cited in the tiie second Chapter of Book I. 
of the First Part. 



of your estate and the salvation of your soul. If you shall vanquish 
ine, my head shall lie at your mercy, the spoils of my horse and 
arms shall he yours, and the fame of my exploits shall be transferred 
from me to you. Consider v^^hich is best for you, and answer me 
w^ithout delay, for this business must be despatched this very day." 

Don Quixote was amazed, as well at the arrogance of the 
Knight of the White Moon as at his being challenged by him. 
He answered with calm gravity and in a severe tone of voice : 
" Sir Knight of the White Moon, whose achievements have not as 
yet reached my ears, I will make you swear you never saw the 
illustrious Dulcinea. If you had seen her, I am confident you 
would have taken care not to engage in this trial, since the sight of 
her must have undeceived you, and convinced you that there never 
was nor ever can be a beauty comparable to hers. Therefore, 
without giving you the lie, and only saying you are mistaken, I 
accept your challenge with the aforementioned conditions, and I 
accept it upon the spot, that the day allotted for this business may 
not first elapse. Of the conditions, I only except the transfer of 
your exploits, because I do not know what they are. I am content 
with my own, such as they are. Take, then, what part of the field 
you please, and I will do the like, and to whom God shall give the 
victory, may Saint Peter give his blessing," 

The Knight of the White Moon was discovered from the city, 
and the viceroy was informed that he was in conference with Don 
Quixote de la Mancha. The viceroy, believing it was some new 
adventure contrived by Don Antonio Moreno, or by some other 
gentleman of the town, immediately rode out to the strand, 
accompanied by Don Antonio and a great many other gentlemen. 
They arrived just as Don Quixote had wheeled Rocinante about, 
to take the necessary ground for his career. The viceroy, perceiving 
they were both ready to turn for the encounter, interposed, asking 
what induced them to so sudden a fight. " It is the precedency of 
beauty," answered the Knight of the White Moon ; and he 
proceeded to relate succintly in a few words what he had said to 
Don Quixote, and the conditions of the combat agreed to on both 
sides. The viceroy asked Don Antonio in a whisper whether he 


knew who the Knight of tlie White Moon was, and whether 
it was some jest designed to be put upon Don Quixote. Don 
Antonio answered that he neither knew who he was nor 
whether the challenge was in jest or earnest. This answer 
perplexed the viceroy ; he was in doubt whether or not he should 
suffer them to proceed to the combat. Inclining rather to believe 
it could be nothing but a jest, he went aside, saying : " If there is 
no other remedy, knights, but to confess or die; if signor Don 
Quixote persists in denying, and your worship of the White Moon 
in affirming, fall to in God's name." The Knight of the White 
Moon thanked the viceroy in courtly and discreet terms for the 
leave, and Don Quixote did the same. The latter, recommending 
himself with all his heart to Heaven and his Dulcinea, as was his 
custom at the beginning of the combats that offered, wheeled about 
again to fetch a larger compass, because he saw his adversary did 
the like ; then, without sound of trumpet or other warlike 
instrument to give the signal for the onset, tliey both turned their 
horses about at the same instant. But he of the White Moon 
being the nimblest, met Don Quixote at two-thirds of the career, and 
there encountered him with such impetuous force, not touching him 
with his lance, which he seemed to raise on purpose, that he gave 
Rocinante and Don Quixote a perilous fall to the ground. He 
immediately advanced again to the knighc, and, clapping his lance to his 
vizor, said : " Sir Knight, you are vanquished, and a dead man, if you 
do not confess the conditions of our challenge." Don Quixote, 
' bruised and stunned with his fall, replied, without lifting up his 
vizor, in a faint and hollow voice, as if he was speaking from 
within a tomb : '* Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in 
the world, and I the most unfortunate knight on earth. It is not fit 
that my weakness should discredit this truth. Push, sir knight,^ 
push on your lance, and take away my life, since you have 
despoiled me of my honour." — " By no means," cried the Knight 
of the White Moon. " Live, live the fame of the beauty of the 
lady Dulcinea del Toboso, in its full lustre. All the satisfaction I 
demand, is that the great Don Quixote retire home to his own 
town for a year, or till such time as I shall command, according to 
our agreement before we began this battle." 




All this was heard by the viceroy, Don Antonio, and many other 
persons there present; they also heard Don Quixote reply that 
since he required nothing of him to the prejudice of Dulcinea, he 
would perform all the rest like a punctual and true knight. 
This confession made, the knight of the White Moon turned 
about his horse, and, making a bow with his head to the viceroy, 
entered into the city at a half-gallop. The viceroy ordered Don 
Antonio to follow him, and by all means to ascertain who he was. 



The J raised Don Quixote from the ground, and, uncovering his 
face found him pale and in a cold sweat. Rocinante was in so poor 
a way that he could not stir for the present. Sancho, sorrowful 
and with tears in his eyes, knew not what to do or say. He 
fancied all that had happened to be a dream, and that all this 
business was matter of enchantment. He saw his master van- 
quished, reduced to mercy, and under an obligation not to bear 
arms during a whole year. He beheld in imagination the light 
of the glory of his achievements obscured, and the hopes of his 
late promises dissipated like smoke by the wind. He was afraid, 
finally, that Rocinante's bones were quite broken and his master's 
disjointed, and prayed that it might prove no worse ^^^. Don 
Quixote was carried back to the city in an open sedan the viceroy 
had commanded to be brought, and the viceroy also returned 
thither, impatient to learn who the Knight of the White Moon 
was, by whom Don Quixote had been left in such evil plight. 


•"" Cervantes here play» very cleverly on the word destocado, to which he give» 
first the icnsc of dislocated, then that of the cure of madness, from loco, mad. 





ON Antonio Moreno 

followed the Knight 
of the White Moon. 
A great number of 
boys also pursued him 
to the door of an inn 
within the city. Don 
Antonio went in after 
liim, desirous to know 
who he was. A squire 
came out to receive 
and unarm him, who 
then shut himself up 
in a lower room, and 
with him Don Antonio, who was dying with curiosity to know who 
he was. The Knight of the White Moon, perceiving that this 
gentleman would not leave him, said : " I very well know, sir, the 
design of your coming; it is to learn who I am, and, as there is no 
reason for concealing it, while my servant is unarming me, I will 

PART II. — CHAP. LXV. 449 

inform you without deviating a tittle from the truth. Know, sir, 
that I am called the Bachelor Sampson Carrasco : I am of the 
same village as Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose madness and 
folly move all that know^ him to compassion ; and of those who had 
most pity for him was I one. Believing his recovery to depend 
upon his being quiet and staying at home in his own house, I 
devised how to make him continue there. With that view, about 
three months ago I sallied forth to the highway like a knight- 
errant, styling myself the Knight of the Mirrors, designing to fight 
and vanquish him, without doing him harm ; the condition of our 
combat being that the vanquished should remain at the discretion 
of the vanquisher. What I, concluding him already vanquished, 
intended to enjoin him, was that he should return to his village, 
and not stir out of it in a whole year, in which time he might be 
cured ; but fortune ordained it otherwise, for he vanquished me and 
tumbled me from my horse. Thus my design did not take effect. 
He pursued his journey, and I returned home vanquished, ashamed 
and bruised with my fall, which was a very dangerous one. Never- 
theless I lost not the desire of finding him and vanquishing him, 
as you have seen this day. He is so exact and punctual in 
observing the laws of knight-errantry, that he will doubtless 
respect the obligation I have laid upon him, and be as good as his 
word. This, sir, is the true business, and I have nothing to add. 
I only entreat you not to discover me, nor to let Don Quixote know 
who I am, that my good intentions may take efíect, and that I may 
succeed in restoring his understanding to a man who has a very 
good one, if the follies of chivalry do but leave him." — " Oh ! sir,'» 
cried Don Antonio, " God forgive you the injury you have done 
the whole world, in endeavouring to restore to his senses the most 
diverting madman in it. Do you not see, sir, that the benefit 
of his recovery will not counterbalance the pleasure his extra- 
vagancies afibrd? But I fancy that all signor bachelor's industry 
will not be sufliicient to recover a man so consummately mad ; and> 
were it not against the rule of charity, I should say : * May Don 
Quixote never be recovered,' for, by his cure, we shall not only 
Jose his pleasantries, but also those of Ids squire Sancho Panza, any 
▼OL. III. 3 L 



one of which is enough to make Melancholy herself merry. 
Nevertheless I will hold my peace and tell him nothing, to try if I 
am right in suspecting that all signor Carrasco's diligence is likely to 
be fruitless." The bachelor made answer that, all things considered, 
the business was in a promising way, and he hoped for good success. 
Don Antonio, having offered his service in whatever else he pleased 
to command, took his leave. The same day, Sampson, having caused 
his armour to be tied upon the back of a mule, rode out of the city 
upon the same horse on which he had fought, and returned to his 
native place; nothing befalling him by the way worthy to be 
recorded in this faithful history. 

Don Antonio recounted to the viceroy all that Carrasco had told 
him, at which the viceroy was not much pleased, considering that 
Don Quixote's confinement would put an end to all the diversion 
his follies administered to those that knew him. 
v/ Six days Don Quixote lay in bed, chagrined, melancholy, 

thoughtful and peevish, his imagination still dwelling upon the 
unhappy business of his defeat. Sancho strove to comfort him, 
and said, among other things : " Dear sir, hold up your head, and 
try to be cheerful, and above all give Heaven thanks that, though 
you got a bad fall, you did not come off with a rib broken. You 
know, that they that will give must take, and that there are not always 
bacon-flitches where there are pins ; you may therefore safely say a 
fig for the physician, since you have no need of his help in this 
distemper. Let us return home, and leave this rambling in quest 
of adventures, through countries and places unknown. If it be 
well considered, I am the greatest loser, though your worship be 
the greatest sufiTerer. I, who with the government quitted the 
desire of ever governing more, did not quit the desire of being an 
earl, which wiU never come to pass if your worship refuse being a 
king, by quitting the exercise of chivalry. Then all my hopes 
vanish into smoke." — " Peace, Sancho," answered Don Quixote ; 
"you see my confinement and retirement is not to last above a 
year, and then T will resume my honourable profession, and shall 
not want a kingdom to win for myself, nor an earldom to bestow on 
you." — "God hear it," retorted Sancho, "and let sin be deaf ; for 

PART II. — CHAP. LXV. 453 

I have always been told that a good expectation is better than a 
bad possession." 

They were thus discoursing, when Don Antonio entered with 
signs of great joy : " My reward, signor Don Quixote," cried he, 
" for the good news I bring you: Don Gregorio and the renegade who 
went to bring him are in the harbour. In the harbour do I say ? by this 
time they must be come to the viceroy's palace, and will be here 
presently. Don Quixote was a little revived : " In truth, I was 
going to say," said he, " I should be glad if it had fallen out quite 
otherwise, that I might have been obliged to go over to Barbary, 
where, by the force of my arm, I should have given liberty, not 
only to Don Gregorio, but to all the Christian captives that are in 
Barbary. But alas ! what do I say, wretch that I am ? am I not 
vanquished ? am I not overthrown ? am I not he who has it not in 
his power to take arms for a twelvemonth ? Why then do I promise ? 
why do T vaunt, I who am fitter to handle a distaff than a sword ?" 
— " No more, sir," cried Sancho. " Let the hen live, though she 
have the pip. To-day for you, and to-morrow for me. As for 
these matters of encounters and bangs, never trouble your head 
about them ; for he that falls to-day may rise to morrow, unless he 
has a mind to lie a-bed ; I mean by giving way to despondency, 
and not endeavouring to recover fresh spirits for fresh encounters. 
Pray, sir, rise to welcome Don Gregorio, for there seems to be a 
great bustle in the house, and by this time he is come." 

Sancho was right; Don Gregorio and the renegade having 
given the viceroy an account of the expedition, the former, impa- 
tient to see Ana Felix, was come with the renegade to Don 
Antonio's house. Though Don Gregorio, when he made his escape 
from Algiers, was in a woman's dress, he had exchanged it in the 
bark for that of a captive who escaped with him. But, in 
whatever dress he had come, he would have had the appearance of a 
person worthy to be loved, served and esteemed ; for he was very 
handsome and seemed to be not above seventeen or eighteen years 
of age. Ricote and his daughter went out to meet him : the father 
in tears, and the daughter with charming modesty. They did not 
embrace each other, for, where there is much love, there are usually 


but few freedoms. The joint beauties of Don Gregorio and Ana 
Felix surprised all the beholders. Silence spoke for the two lovers, 
and their eyes proclaimed their joyful and. modest sentiments. 
The renegade acquainted the company with the artifices he had 
employed to bring off Don Gregorio, and Don Gregorio recounted 
the dangers and straits he was reduced to among the women he 
remained with ; and all this, not in a tedious discourse, but in a 
few words, showing that his discretion outstripped his years. Finally, 
Ricote generously paid and satisfied as well the renegade as the 
Christians who had rowed at the oar. The renegade was reconciled 
and restored to the bosom of the church, and, though certainly 
not a most promising member, forthwith became clean and sound 
through penance and repentance. 

Two days after, the viceroy and Don Antonio consulted together 
about the means how Ana Felix and her father might remain in 
Spain ; for they thought it no manner of inconvenience that a daugh- 
ter so much a Christian, and a father so well inclined, should continue 
in the kingdom. Don Antonio offered to solicit the afíair himself 
at court, being obliged to go thither about other business, intimating 
that, by means of favour and bribery, many difficult matters are 
there brought about. " No," said Ricote, who was present at the 
interview, " there is nothing to be expected from favour or bribes ; 
for, with the great Don Bernardino de Velasco, count of Salazar, to 
whom his majesty has given the charge of our expulsion, no en- 
treaties, no promises, no bribes, no pity, will avail. It is true he 
tempers justice with mercy, yet, because he sees the whole body of our 
nation tainted and impure, he rather makes use of burning caustics 
than mollifying ointments. By prudence and sagacity, by diligence 
and terrors, he has supported on his able shoulders the weight of this 
great machine, and brought it to due execution and perfection, our 
artifices, stratagems, diligence and policies not being able to blind 
his Argus eyes, continually open to see that none of us stay or lurk 
behind, and, like a concealed root, hereafter spring up and spread 
venomous fruit through Spain, already cleared, airead}^ freed from 
the fears in which our vast numbers plunged the kingdom. Heroic 
resolution of the great Philip the Third, and unheard-of wisdom in 



committing this charge to Don Bernardino de Velasco^^!" — 
" However, when I am at court," said Don Antonio, " I will use 
all the diligence and means possible, and leave the success to 
Heaven. Don Gregorio shall go with me, to comfort his parents 
under the affliction they must be in for his absence ; Ana Felix 
shall stay at my house with my wife, or in a monastery ; and I am 
sure the viceroy will be glad that honest Ricote remain in his house 
until he sees the success of my negociation." 

The viceroy consented to all that was proposed; but Don 
Gregorio, knowing what passed, expressed, at first, great unwilling- 
ness to leave Ana Felix. But, desirous to visit his parents, and to 
concert the means of returning for her, he came at length into the 
proposal. Ana Felix remained with Don Antonio's lady, and 
Ricote in the viceroy's palace. 

'K h. } 

*" There were several commissaries charged with the expulsion of the Moors, and 
this Don Bernardino de Velasco, on whom Cervantes makes an culogium, so badly 
placed m the mouth of Ricote, was commissioned solely to drive the Moors from 
La Mancha. It is possible that he was both just and severe in his duties, but other 
commissaries allowed themselves to be softened, and, as we read in the memoirs of 
the times, many rich Moors bought the right of remaining in Spain, provided they 
changed their province. 



/ The day of Don Antonio's departure came, and that of Don 
Quixote's and Sancho's two days after ; for the knight's fall would 
not permit him to travel sooner. At Don Gregorio's parting from 
Ana Felix, all was tears, sighs, swoonings and sobbings. Ricote 
offered his son-in-law a thousand crowns if he desired them ; but 
Don Gregorio would accept only of five from Don Antonio, as a 
loan, to be repaid when they met at Madrid. Finally they both 
departed, and Don Quixote and Sancho shortly afterwards, as has 
been said : Don Quixote unarmed, and in a travelling dress, and 
Sancho on foot, his donkey being laden with the armour. 






he quitted Barcelona, Don Quixote turned about to see the spot 
where he was overtlirown, andj cried : " Here stood Troy ! here 
my misfortunes, not my cowardice, despoiled me of my acquired 
roL. III. 3 M 


glory ! here I experienced the fickleness of fortune ! here the lustre 
of my exploits was obscured ! here, lastly, fell my happiness, never 
to rise again ! " Sancho, hearing these lamentations, said : " It is as 
much the part of valiant minds, dear sir, to be patient under 
misfortunes, as to rejoice in prosperity ; and this I judge by myself: 
for as, when a governor, I was merry, now that I am a squire on 
foot, I am not sad. Effectively, I have heard say that she they 
commonly call Fortune is a drunken, capricious dame, and very 
blind into the bargain. Thus she does not see what she is about, 
nor knows whom she casts down, or whom she exalts." 

" You are much of a philosopher, Sancho," answered Don 

Quixote, " and talk very discreetly. I know not whence you had 

it. But what I can tell you, is that there is no such thing in the 

world as Fortune, nor do the things which happen in it, be they 

good or bad, fall out by chance, but by the particular appointment 

of Heaven. Hence comes the saying that every man is the maker 

of his own fortune. I have been so of mine, but not with all the 

prudence necessary ; my presumption has accordingly cost me dear. 

I ought to have considered that the feebleness of Rocinante was 

not a match for the ponderous bulk of the Knight of the White 

Moon's steed. But I adventured it; I did my best, and I was 

unhorsed, and, though I lost my honour, I lost not, nor could I lose, 

the virtue of performing my promise. When I was a knight-errant 

daring and valiant, I gained credit for my exploits ; now that I am 

but a walking squire, I will gain reputation to my words by 

performing my promise. March on then, friend Sancho ; let us 

pass at home the year of our noviciate. In our forced retreat, we 

will acquire fresh vigour to the exercise of arms, which I will never 

abandon." — " Sir," answered Sancho, " trudging on foot is no such 

pleasant thing as to encourage or incite me to travel great days' 

journeys. Let us leave this armour hanging upon some tree, like 

a hanged man ; and when I am mounted upon Dapple, my feet 

from the ground, we will travel as your worship shall like, and 

whither you choose to lead the way. But to think that I will make 

long stages on foot, is to expect what cannot be." — *' You have said 

well, Sancho," answered Don Quixote j " hang up my armour for 



a trophy ; and under or around it we will carve on the tree that 
which was written on the trophy of Orlando's arms : 

*' Let none presume these arms to move, 
Who Roldan's fury dares not prove ^." 

Vide note 77, page 126, Chap. V., Book 2 of the First Part (Vol. I,). 



— " All this seems to be extremely right," answered Sancho ; 
"and were it not for the want we should have of Rocinante upon 
the road, it would not be amiss to leave him hanging too." — 
" Neither him, nor the armour," replied Don Quixote, " will I suffer 
to be hanged, that it may not be said : * For good service, had 
recompense.^ " — " Your worship says well," answered Sancho ; " for, 
according to the opinion of the wise, * the ass's fault should not be 
laid upon the pack-saddle.' And, since your worship is in fault 
for this adventure, punish yourself, and let not your fury spend 
itself upon the already shattered and bloody armour, nor upon the 
gentleness of Rocinante, nor upon the tenderness of my feet, in 
making them travel more than they can bear." 

In such reasoning and discourses they passed all that day, and 
even four more, without encountering anything to put them out 
of their way. On the fifth, at entering into a village, they saw, at 
the door of an inn, a great number of people solacing themselves, 
it being a holiday. When Don Quixote came up to them, a 
peasant said aloud: " One of these two gentlemen who are coming 
this way, and who do not know the parties, shall decide our 
wager." — " That I will," answered Don Quixote, " most impartially, 
when I am made acquainted with it." — " The business, good sir," 
responded the peasant, "is that an inhabitant of this town, who is 
so corpulent that he weighs about twenty-three stone *, has 
challenged a neighbour, who weighs not above ten and a half, to 
run with him a hundred yards. The conditions are that they carry 
equal weight. The challenger, being asked how the weight should 
be made equal, said that the challenged, who weighed but ten and 
a half, should carry thirteen stone of iron about him, and so both 
the lean and the fat would carry equal weight." — " Not so," cried 
Sancho immediately, before Don Quixote could answer. " To me, 
who have so lately left being a governor and a judge, as all the 
world knows, it belongs to resolve these doubts, and give my 
opinion in every controversy." — "Answer in a good hour, friend 

* Eleven arrobos. The arroba is a weight of twenty-five pounds. 


Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " for I am not fit to feed a cat, my 
brain is so disturbed and turned topsy-turvy." 

With this license, Sancho, addressing the country-fellows, who 
crowded about him, gaping, expecting his decision : " Brothers," 
said he, " the fat man's proposition is unreasonable, nor is there the 
least shadow of justice in it; for, if it be true, as is commonly said, 
that the challenged may choose his weapons, it is not reasonable 
the other should choose for him such as will hinder and obstruct 
his coming off conqueror. Therefore my sentence is that the fat 
fellow, the challenger, pare away, slice off, or cut out, thirteen 
stone of his flesh, somewhere or other, as he shall think best and most 
proper ; thus, being reduced to ten and a half stone weight, he will 
be equal to and matched exactly with his adversary ; then they may 
run upon even terms." — " I vow," said one of the peasants, who 
listened to Sancho's decision, " this gentleman has spoken like a 
saint, and given sentence like a canon. But, I warrant the fat 
fellow will have no mind to part with an ounce of his flesh, much 
less thirteen stone." — " The best way," answered another, " will be 
not to run at all, that Lean may not break his back with the weight, 
nor Fat lose flesh. Let half the wager be spent in wine ; and let 
us take these gentlemen to the tavern that has the best, and I will be 
responsible for the rest." — " I thank ye, gentlemen," answered Don 
Quixote ; " but I cannot stay a moment, for melancholy thoughts and 
disastrous circumstances oblige me to appear uncivil and travel 
faster than ordinary." Then, clapping spurs to Rocinante, he 
passed on and left the people in wonder at his figure and his squire's 
sagacity. One of the peasants cried : " If the man be so acute, 
what must the master be ! I will lay a bet that, if they go to study 
at Salamanca, in a trice they will become alcaldes at court. There 
is nothing easier; it is but studying, simply studying; then if 
he only has favour and good luck, when a man least thinks of it he 
finds himself with a white wand in his hand, or a mitre on his 
)(- « That night master and man passed in the middle of the fields, 
exposed to the smooth and clear sky, and the next day, resuming 
their way, they saw coming towards them a man on foot, with a 


wallet about his neck and a javelin in his hand, the general 
equipment of a foot-post. When he was come pretty near to Don 
Quixote, he mended his pace, and, half running, went up to him. 
Embracing his right thigh (for he could reach no higher), with signs 
of great joy he said : " Oh ! signor Don Quixote de la Mancha, with 
what pleasure will my lord duke's heart be touched when he hears 
that your worship is returning to his castle, where he is still with my 
lady duchess ! " — " I know you not, friend," answered Don Quixote, 
" nor can I guess who you are, unless you tell me." — " I, signor 
Don Quixote," answered the foot-post, "am Tosilos, the duke's 
lacquey, who would not fight with your worship about the 
marriage of Donna Rodriguez' daughter." — "God be my aid!" 
cried Don Quixote, " are you he whom the enchanters, my 
enemies, transformed into the lacquey, to defraud me of the glory 
of that combat ? " — " Peace, good sir," replied the messenger. 
" There was no enchantment, nor change of face. I was as much 
the lacquey Tosilos, when I entered the lists, as Tosilos the lacquey 
when I came out. I thought to have married without fighting, 
because I liked the girl. But my design succeeded quite otherwise ; 
for, as soon as your worship was departed from our castle, my lord 
duke ordered a hundred bastinadoes to be given me for having 
contravened the directions he gave me before the battle. The 
business ended in the girl's turning nun, and Donna Rodriguez' 
returning to Castile ; and I am now going to Barcelona to carry a 
packet of letters from my lord to the viceroy. If your worship 
please to take a pure draught, though warm, I have here "a 
calabash full of old wine, with some slices of Tronchen cheese, 
which will serve to awaken thirst, if perchance it be asleep." — " I 
accept the invitation," cried Sancho; "a truce with compliments 
and fill a cup, honest Tosilos, in spite of all the enchanters that are 
in the Indies." — " In short, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " you are 
the greatest glutton in the world, and the greatest dunce upon 
earth, if you cannot be persuaded that this messenger is enchanted, 
and this Tosilos a counterfeit. Stay you with him, and sate 
yourself; I will go slowly on and wait your coming." 

The lacquey laughed, unsheathed his calabash, and unwalletted 



his cheese ; and taking out a loaf, he and Sancho sat down upon 
the green grass. In peace and good fellowship they attacked and 
speedily got to the bottom of the provisions in the wallet, with so 
good an appetite that they licked the very packet of letters be- 
cause it smelt of cheese. Tosilos said to Sancho: *^ Doubtless, 
friend Sancho, this master of yours ought to be reckoned a mad- 
man." — "Why ought he ?" replied Sancho: " he owes nothing to 
anybody ; he pays ready money for everything, especially where 
madness is current. I see it full well, and full well I tell him of 
it. But what boots it ? especially now that there is an end of him, 
for he is vanquished by the Knight of the White Moon." Tosilos 
desired him to relate what had befallen him ; but Sancho answered 
that it was unmannerly to let his master wait for him, and that 
some other time, if they met, they should have leisure to discuss 
the adventure. Thereupon he arose, shook his doublet and the 
crumbs from his beard, drove Dapple before him, and, bidding To- 
silos adieu, left him and rejoined his master, who was staying for 
him under the shade of a tree. 






many various cogitations as perplexed Don Quixote before his 
defeat, many more tormented him after his overthrow. He stayed, 
as has been said, under the shade of a tree, where reflections, Hke 
flies about honey, assaulted and stung him, thousands strong. Some 
turned upon the disenchantment of Dulcinea, others upon the life 
he was to lead in his forced retirement. Sancho came up, and 
commended to him the generosity of the lacquey Tosilos. " Is it 
possible, Sancho," cried Don Quixote, " that you persist in think- 
ing he is a real lacquey ? You seem to have quite forgotten that 
you saw Dulcinea converted and transformed into a country wench. 


and the Knight of the Mirrors into the bachelor Sampson Carrasco : 
all the work of enchanters who persecute me. But, tell me now, 
did you enquire of this Tosilos what God has done with Altisidora; 
whether she still bewails my absence, or has already abandoned to 
oblivion the amorous thoughts that tormented her whilst I was 
present?" — "Mine," answered Sancho, "were not of a kind to 
afford me leisure to enquire after fooleries. Body of me, sir, is 
your worship now in a condition to be enquiring after other folks' 
thoughts, especially amorous ones ? " — " Mark me, Sancho," re- 
torted Don Quixote, "there is a great deal of difference between 
actions inspired by love, and those inspired by gratitude. It is very 
possible a gentleman may not be in love ; but it is impossible, 
strictly speaking, for him to be ungrateful. Altisidora, to all ap- 
pearance, loved me ; she gave me three night-caps you know ; she 
wept at my departure, she cursed me, vilified me, and, in spite of 
shame, complained publicly of me. These be signs that she adored 
me ; for the anger of lovers usually ends in maledi^ions. I had 
neither hopes to give her, nor treasures to offer her ; for my hopes 
are all engaged to Dulcinea, and the treasures of knights-errant, 
like those of fairies, are delusions, not realities. I can only give 
her these remembrances I have of her, without prejudice however 
to those I have of Dulcinea ; Dulcinea, whom you wrong through 
your remissness in whipping yourself and disciplining that flesh of 
yours, (may I see it devoured by w^olves!) which had rather preserve 
itself for the worms than for the relief of that poor lady." — " Sir," 
answered Sancho, " if I must speak the truth, I cannot persuade 
myself that the lashing of my person can have anything to do with 
disenchanting of the enchanted. It is as if one should say : * If 
your head aches, anoint your knee-pans.* At least, I dare swear 
that in all the histories your worship has read, treating of knight- 
errantry, you never met with anybody disenchanted by whipping. 
But, be that as it will, I will lay it on when the humour takes me 
and time gives me convenicncy of chastising myself." — " God grant 
it," answered Don Quixote ; " and Heaven give you grace to see 
the duty and obligation you are under to aid my lady, who is yours 
too, since you are mine." 



With these discourses they went on their way, when they arrived 
at the very spot where they had been trampled upon by the bulls. 
Don Quixote knew it again, and said to Sancho : "Tliisis the mea- 
dow where we alighted on the gay shepherdesses and gallant shep- 
herds who intended to revive in it and imitate the pastoral Arcadia. 
The thought was as new as ingenious, and in imitation of it, if you 
are of my advice, 1 could wish, O Sancho, we might turn shepherds, 


at least for the time I must live retired ^^^. I will buy sheep and 
all other things necessary for the pastoral employment ; and I, call- 
ing myself the shepherd Quixotiz, you the shepherd Panzino, we 
will range the mountains, the woods and the meadows, singing here, 
and complaining there, drinking the liquid crystal of the fountains, 
of the limpid brooks, or of the mighty rivers. The oaks with a 
bounteous hand shall give their sweetest fruit, the trunks of the 
hardest cork-trees shall afford us seats. The willows shall furnish 
shade, and the roses perfume ; the spacious meadow shall yield us 
carpets of a thousand colours ; the air, clear and pure, shall supply 
breath; the moon and stars afford their mild light, despite the 
darkness of the night ; singing shall furnish pleasure, and complain- 
ing yield delight; Apollo shall provide verses and love-conceits, 
with which we will make ourselves famous and immortal, not only 
in the present but in future ages." — " Before God," cried Sancho, 
" this kind of life squares and corners with me exactly ; besides, no 
sooner will the bachelor Sampson Carrasco and master Nicholas the 
barber have well seen it, than they will have a mind to follow and 
turn shepherds with us. God grant that the curate have not an 
inclination to make one in the fold, he is of so gay a temper, and 
such a lover of mirth." — " You have said very well," returned Don 
Quixote ; " and the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, if he enter into the 
pastoral society, as doubtless he wdll, may call himself the shepherd 
Sampsonino, or Carrascon. Nicholas the barber may be called Ni- 
coloso, as old Boscan called himself Nemoroso ^o^. As for the 
curate, I know not what name to bestow upon him, unless it be 
some derivative from his profession, calling him the shepherd Cu- 
riambro. For the shepherdesses whose lovers we are to be, we may 

*"' Cervantes here imitates a passage of the Amadis of Greece, (Part 2, chap. 
CXXXII.) : " In the midst of his numerous cares, Don Florizcl of Niquea, resolved to 
assume the dress of a shepherd and live in a village. This decided on, he set out, 
made known his intention to an honest man, and made him some sheep for hira to 
conduct to the fields to pasture," etc. 

^ It is thought that Garcilaso de la Vega in his eclogues, has designated, under the 
name of demoroso, his friend the poet Boscan, in consequence of the identity between 
the Italian word botco, and the Latin word nemw^ whence is derived the name 
of Nemoroso. 



pick and choose their names as we do pears ; and, since my lady's 
name is appropriate alike for a shepherdess or a princess, I need 
not trouble myself about seeking another that may suit her better. 
You, Sancho, may give yours what name you please." — " I do not 
intend," answered Sancho, " to give mine any other than Tere- 
sona^^^; it will fit her fat sides well, and be near her own too, since 
her name is Teresa. Besides, when I come to celebrate her in 
verse, I shall discover my chaste desires, for I am not for looking 
into other folks' houses for better bread than that made of wheat. 
As for the curate, it will not be proper he should have a shepherd- 
ess, that he may set a good example. If the bachelor Sampson will 
have one, his soul is at his own disposal." — ** God be my aid ! " 
cried Don Quixote, " what a life shall we lead, friend Sancho ! what 
a world of bagpipes shall we hear ! what flageolets ! what tamborines ! 

^^ The termination that in Spanish marks the argumentative. 


what tabors ! and what rebecks ! If to all these diiferent musics 
be added the albogues ^^^, we shall have almost all the pastoral in- 
struments." — " What are your albogues ? " demanded Sancho : " T 
never heard them named, nor ever saw one of them in all my life." 
— " Albogues," answered Don Quixote, " are certain plates of brass, 
like candlesticks, which, being hollow, and struck against each 
other, give a sound, if not very agreeable or harmonious, yet not 
offensive, and agreeing well enough with the rusticity of the tabor 
and pipe. This name albogues is Arabian, as are all those in Spa- 
nish that begin with al, as for example : almohaza^'^^ , almorzar ^^^, 
alfombra^^'^, alguazil^^^, almacen^'^^, alcancia^^^, and the like, with 
very few more. Our language has only three Arabic words ending 
in 2: borcegui^^^f zaquizamí ^^'^ , and maravedí ^^^-^ for alheli^^^ and 
alfaqui^'^^i as well for beginning with al, as ending in 2, are known 
to be Arabic. This I have told you by the by, the occasion of 
naming albogues having brought it into my mind. One main help 
we shall probably have towards perfecting this profession is that I, 
as you know, am somewhat of a poet, and the bachelor Sampson 
Carrasco an extremely good one. Of the curate I say nothing; 
but I will venture a wager that he has some pretensions to turn- 
ing verses, and that master Nicholas the barber has some too, 
I make no doubt, for most or all of that faculty are players 
on the guitar and song-makers. I will complain of absence; 

** A sort of cymbals. 

^ A currycomb. 

«" Breakfast. 

8>2 Carpet. 

^'3 Officer of Justice. 

•'* Warehouse. 

•'* A small hollow ball, filled with flowers, with perfumes, or with cinders, thrown 
at each other by the Arabians in their tournaments, and other equestrian games. 
«'8 Buskin. 
«' Garret. 

•** A small piece of money worth the thirty-fourth part of a real. 
«» Clove-tree. 

*^ Faquir, a mussulman priest or monk. Cervantes forgets alfoli a salt warehouse 
an aljonjolí, sesame, a plant. 



you shall extol yourself for a constant lover ; the shepherd Car- 
rascon shall lament his being disdained, and the curate Curiam- 
bro may say or sing whatever will do him most service ; then 
the business will go on as well as heart can wish." — " I am so un- 
lucky, sir," answered Sancho, " that I am afraid I shall never see 
the day wherein I shall be engaged in this employment. O ! what 
neat wooden spoons shall I make, when I am a shepherd ! what 
crumbs ! what cream ! what garlands ! what pastoral gimcracks ! If 
they do not procure me the reputation of being wise, they will not 
fail to procure me that of being ingenious. My daughter Sanchica 
will bring us our dinner to the sheepfold. But, take care ! she is 
a very sightly wench ; and shepherds there are who are more of the 
knave than the fool. I would not have my girl come for wool and 
go back shorn. Loves and wanton desires are as frequent in fields 
as in cities, and to be found in shepherds' cottages as well as in 
kings' palaces. Take away the occasion, and you take away the sin ; 
and, * what the eye views not, the heart rues not ; ' and, * a leap 
from behind a bush has more force than the prayer of a good man.'" 
— " No more proverbs, good Sancho," cried Don Quixote ; " any 
one of those you have mentioned is sufficient to let us know your 
meaning. I have often advised you not to be so prodigal of your 
proverbs, and to keep a strict hand over them. But it seems it is 
preaching in the desert, and the more my mother whips me^ the more 
I rend and tear.''' — " It seems also," answered Sancho, " your wor- 
ship makes good the saying : * The kettle called the pot black-face.' 
You are reproving me for speaking proverbs, and you string them 
yourself by couples." — " Look you, Sancho," answered Don Quix- 
ote, " I use my proverbs to the purpose ; and, when I speak them, 
they are as fit as the ring to the finger ; but you drag them in by 
the head and shoulders. If I remember right, I have already told 
you that proverbs are short sentences drawn from experience and 
the speculations of our ancient sages. But the proverb that is not 
to the purpose is rather an absurdity than a sentence. Enough 
however of this, and, since night approaches, let us retire a little 
way out of the high road, where we will pass this night. God knows 
what will happen to-morrow." 



They retired, supped late and ill, much against the inclination of 
Sancho, who began to reflect upon the difliculties attending knight- 
errantry among woods and mountains, though, now and then, 
plenty shewed itself in castles and houses, as at Don Diego de 
Miranda's, at the wedding of the rich Camacho, and at Don 
Antonio Moreno's. But he considered it was not possible it should 
be always day nor always night, and so spent the remainder of that 
sleeping, while his master lay awake by his side. 

TOL. in. 






ADY Diana sometimes 
takes a brief trip to the 
antipodes, leaving tlie 
mountains black and the 
vallies in the dark. This 
happened to have been 
the case at the precise 
period of this true his- 
tory of which Cid Hamet 
treats at the beginning 
of the present chapter. In plain truth, it was a dark night, and 
though the moon was in the heavens, she was not in a part where 
she could be seen ; Don Quixote gave way to nature in taking his 
first sleep ; but he did not indulge in a second, quite the reverse 
of Sancho, who never had a second, one sleep lasting him from 


night to morning, an evident sign of his good constitution and few 
cares. Those of Don Quixote kept him so awake, that he awakened 
Sancho and said : " I am amazed, Sancho, at the insensibihty of 
your temper ; you seem to me to be made of marble or brass, not 
susceptible of any emotion or sentiment ; I wake while you sleep ; 
I weep when you are singing ; I am fainting with hunger when 
you are lazy and unwieldly with pure cramming. It is however the 
part of good servants to share in their masters' pains, and to be 
touched with what affects them, were it but for the sake of decency. 
Behold the serenity of the night; see the solitude we are in, 
inviting us, as it were, to intermingle some watching with our sleep. 
Arise! in Heaven's name, arise! go a little apart, and, with a 
willing mind and good courage, give yourself three or four hundred 
lashes upon account, for the disenchantment of Dulcinea. This I 
ask as a favour, for I will not come to wrestling with you again as 
I did before, because I know the weight of your arms. After you 
have laid them on, we will pass the remainder of the night in 
singing, I my absence, and you your constancy, beginning from 
this moment the pastoral employment which we are to follow in 
our village." — " Sir," answered Sancho, " I am of no religious 
order, to rise out of the midst of my sleep and discipline myself; 
neither do I think one can pass from the pain of whipping to music. 
Suffer me to sleep, and urge not this whipping myself, lest you 
force me to swear never to touch a hair of my coat, much less of 
my flesh." — " O hardened soul ! " cried Don Quixote, " O remorse- 
less squire ! O ! bread ill employed, and favours ill considered, 
those I have already bestowed upon you, and those I still intend to 
bestow upon you ! To me you owe that you have been a governor, 
to me you owe that you are in a fair way of being an earl, or of 
some title equivalent, without the accomplishment of these things 
being delayed longer than a year, for post tenehras spero lucem ^^i." 
— " I know not what that means," replied Sancho ; " I only know 
that, while I am asleep, I have neither fear nor hope, neither 

•" 4fier the darknet» I expect the light. These latin words, written in exergue 
round a stork, formed the device of Juan de la Cuesta, the first publisher of the Don 
Quixote, and Cervantes' friend. 



trouble nor glory. Blessings on him who invented sleep, the 
mantle that covers all human thoughts, the food that appeases 
hunger, the drink that quenches thirst, the fire that warms cold, 
the cold that moderates heat, lastly, the general coin that purchases 
all things, the balance and weight that equals the shepherd and the 
king, the simple and the wise. Only one evil, as I have heard, 
sleep has in it : namely that it resembles death ; for between a 
sleeper and a corpse there is but little diíFerence." — " I never heard 
you, Sancho," rejoined Don Quixote, " talk so elegantly as now, 
whence I come to know the truth of the proverb, you sometimes 
apply : * Not with whom thou art bred, but with whom thou art 
fed.' " — " Dear master of mine," replied Sancho, " it is not I that 
am stringing of proverbs now. They fall from your worship's 
mouth by couples, faster than from me. Only between yours and 
mine there is this difference, that your worship's come at the proper 
season, and mine out of season. But, after all is done and said, 
they are all proverbs." 

They were thus conversing, when they heard a kind of dull 
sound and harsh noise, spreading itself through all the valley. 
Don Quixote started up and laid his hand to his sword ; Sancho 
squatted down under Dapple, and clapped the bundle of armour on 
one side of him and the ass's pannel on the other, trembling no less 
with fear than Don Quixote with surprise. The noise increased 
by degrees, and came nearer to the two tremblers, one at least, for 
the other's courage is already sufficiently known. Now the fact 
was, that certain fellows were driving about six hundred hogs to 
sell at a fair, and were upon the road with them at that hour. 
So great was the din they made with grunting and blowing, that 
they deafened the ears of Don Quixote and Sancho, who could not 
guess the occasion of it. The far-spreading and grunting herd 
came crowding on, and, without any respect to the authority of 
Don Quixote or that of Sancho, trampled over them both, 
demolishing Sancho's entrenchments and overthrowing, not only 
Don Quixote, but Rocinante to boot. The crowding, grunting, 
the hurrying on of these unclean animals, put into confusion and 
overturned the pack-saddle, the armour, Dapple, Rocinante, Sancho 



and Don Quixote. Sancho picked himself up as well as he could, 
and desired his master to lend him his sword, saying he would kill 
half a dozen of those unmannerly gentlemen the swine, for such 
by this time he knew them to be. Don Quixote sorrowfully made 
answer : " Let them alone, friend ; this affront is a punishment for 
my sin ; and it is a just judgment of Heaven that foxes should 
devour, wasps sting, and hogs trample upon, a vanquished knight- 
errant." — " It is also, I suppose, a judgment of Heaven," answered 
Sancho, " that the squires of vanquished knights-errant should be 
stung by flies, eaten up by fleas, and besieged by hunger. If we 
squires were the sons of the knights we serve, or very near of kin 
to them, it would be no wonder if the punishment of their faults 
should overtake us in the fourth generation. But what have the 
Panzas to do with the Quixote's ? Well, let us compose ourselves 
again, and sleep out the little remainder of the night. God will 
send us a new day, and we shall have better luck.'* — " Sleep you, 
Sancho," answered Don Quixote, ** sleep on, for you were born to 
sleep ; I, who was bom to watch, in the space between this and 
day, will give the reins to my thoughts and cool their heat in a 
little madrigal, which, unknown to you, I composed last night in 



my mind." — " Methinks," responded Sancho, " the thoughts which 
give way to the making of couplets cannot be many. Couplet it 
as much as your worship pleases, and I will sleep as much as I can." 
With that, taking as much ground as he wanted, he bundled 
himself up and fell into a sound sleep, neither debts nor troubles 
disturbing him. Don Quixote, leaning against a beech or cork 
tree (for Cid Hamet Ben-Engeli does not distinguish what tree it 
was), sang the following strophes to the music of his own sighs: 

H Love ! when sick of heart-felt grief, 
I sigh and drag thy cruel chain. 

To death I fly, the sure relief 

Of those who groan in lingering pain. 

" But coming to the fatal gates. 
The port in this my sea of woe. 
The joy I feel new life creates. 
And bids my spirits brisker flow. 

" Thus dying ev'ry hour I live, 

And living I resign my breath : 
Strange pow'r of love, that thus can give 

A dying life, and living death." 

The knight accompanied each of these verses with a multitude 
of sighs and a shower of tears, like one whose heart was pierced 
through by the grief of being vanquished and the absence of 


The day appeared, and the sun began to dart his beams in 
Sancho's eyes. He awoke, roused, rubbed his eyes and stretched 
his lazy limbs ; he then contemplated the havoc the hogs had made 
in his cupboard, and cursed the drove, not forgetting the swine- 
herds. Finally, they both set forward on their journey, and, 
towards the decline of the afternoon, they discovered about half a 
score of men on horseback and four or five on foot, advancing 
towards them. Don Quixote's heart leaped with surprise, and 
Sancho's with fear ; for the men that were coming up carried 
spears and targets, and advanced in very warlike array. Don 
Quixote turned to Sancho : " If I could but make use of my arms, 
O Sancho ! " said he, " and if my promise had not tied up my 
hands, the squadron that is coming towards us I would make no more 
of than I would of so many tarts and cheesecakes. But it may 
be something else than what we fear." By this time the 
horsemen were coming up, and, lifting up their lances, without 
speaking a word, surrounded Don Quixote and clapped their spears 
to his back and breast, threatening to kill him. One of those on 
foot, putting his finger to his mouth to signify that he should be 
silent, laid hold of Rocinante's bridle and drew him out of the 
road. The other men on foot, driving Sancho and his donkey 
before them, keeping a marvellous silence, followed the steps of him 
who led Don Quixote. Three or four times the knight was on the 
point of asking whither they were carrying him, or what they would 
have ; but no sooner did he begin to move his lips, than they stopped 
his mouth with the points of their spears. The same thing hap- 
pened to Sancho ; no sooner did he show an inclination to talk, than 
one of those on foot pricked him with a goad, and did as much to 
the ass, as if he had a mind to talk too. Night set in ; they mended 
their pace, and the fear of the two prisoners increased, especially 
when they heard the fellows ever and anon say to them : " On, on, 
ye Trologdy tes ; peace, ye barbarous slaves ; suffer, ye Anthropo- 
phagi ; complain not, ye Scythians ; open not your eyes, ye mur- 
dering polyphemuses, ye devouring lions ; " and other similar epi- 
thets, with which they tormented the ears of the miserable master 
and man. Sancho said to himself: "We ortolans! we barbers* 



slaves ! we Andrew popinjays ! we citadels ! we Polly famonses ! I 
do not like these names at all. This is a bad wind for winnowing 
our corn, the whole mischief comes upon us together, like kicks to 
a cur ; and would to God this disastrous adventure that threatens 
us may end in no worse ! " 

Don Quixote marched along quite confounded, and unable 
to conjecture, by all the conclusions he could make, why they 
called them by those reproachful names. He could only gather, 
that no good was to be expected, and much harm was to be feared. 
In this condition, about an hour after night-fall, they arrived at a 
castle, which Don Quixote presently knew to be the duke's, where 
he had so lately been. " Holy Virgin ! " cried he, as soon as he 
knew the place, " what will this end in ? In this house all is 
courtesy and civil usage ; but to the vanquished good is converted 
into bad, and bad into worse." They entered into the grand quad- 
rangle of the castle, and saw it decorated and set out in such 
manner that their surprise and terror augmented tenfold, as will be 
seen in the following chapter. 





JU E A PING from their 
JL-Jhorses, the whole 
party, as well the 
riders as those who 
had been on footj 
proceeded forcibly 
to take Sancho and 
Don Quixote, and to 
carry them into the 
quadrangle, round 
which near a hun- 
(h-ed torches were 
placed in sockets, 
and above five hun- 
dred lights about 
" the gcilleries and 
b.ilconies ; ¡nso- 
niuch that, in spite 

8 P 


of the night, which was somewhat dark, the absence of day was 
scarcely perceptible. In the middle of the court was erected a 
tomb, about two yards from the ground, and over it a large canopy 
of black velvet, round which, upon its steps, were burning above a 
hundred wax tapers in silver candlesticks and sconces. On the 
tomb was seen the corpse of a damsel, so singularly beautiful that 
her beauty made death itself appear lovely. Her head lay upon a 
cushion of gold brocade, crowned with a garland interwoven with 
odoriferous flowers of several kinds. Her hands lay crosswise upon 
her breast, and between them a branch of triumphal palm. On 
one side of the court was placed a theatre, and, in two chairs, two 
personages were seated in it, whose crowns on their heads and scep- 
tres in their hands denoted them to be kings, either real or feigned. 
At the foot of the theatre, to which the ascent was by steps, stood 
two other chairs, upon which they who brought in the prisoners 
seated Don Quixote and Sancho, in profound silence, giving them 
both to understand by signs that they must be silent too. But, 
without bidding, they held their peace, for the astonishment they 
were in at what they beheld tied up their tongues. Two great 
persons now proceeded to ascend the theatre with a numerous attend- 
ance ; Don Quixote presently recognizing in them the duke and 
duchess, whose guest he had been. They seated themselves in two 
very rich chairs, close by those who seemed to be kings. 

Who would not have wondered at all this, especially when we 
add that Don Quixote now perceived that the corpse upon the tomb 
was that of the fair Altisidora ? On the duke and duchess ascending 
the theatre, Don Quixote and Sancho rose up and made them a 
profound reverence, and their grandeurs returned it by bowing their 
heads a little. An officer at this juncture crossed the place, and, 
approaching Sancho, threw over him a long robe of black buckram, 
all painted over with flames ; then, taking off* his cap, he put on his 
head a lofty pointed mitre, like those used by criminals condemned 
by the Inquisition, bidding him in his ear not to unsew his lips 
under pain of being gagged, or massacred outright. Sancho viewed 
himself from top to toe, and saw himself all over in flames ; but 
finding they did not burn him, he cared not two farthings. He 



took off his mitre, and saw it all painted over with devils ; he put 
it on again, saying within himself: " So far, so good ; these do not 
burn me, nor those carry me away." Don Quixote also surveyed 
him ; and, though fear suspended his senses, he could not but smi!e 

to behold Sancho's figure. 

There now proceeded from under tlie tomb, a low and pleasing 
sound of flutes, which, not being interrupted by any human voice, 


for Silence herself kept silence there, sounded both soft and amorous. 
Suddenly there appeared, by the cushion of the seemingly dend 
body, a beautiful youth in a Roman habit, who, in a sweet and clear 
voice, to the sound of a harp which he struck himself, sung the two 
following stanzas : 

- Till Heaven, in pity to the weeping world, 

Shall give Altisidora back to day. 
By Quixote's scorn to realpiis of Pluto hurl'd, 

Her ev'ry charm to cruel death a prey ; 

While matrons throw their gorgeous robes away, 
To mourn a nymph by cold disdain betray'd. 

To the complaining lyre's enchanting lay, 
I'll sing the praises of this hapless maid 
Jn sweeter notes than Thracian Orpheus ever play'd. 

" Nor shall my numbers with my life expire, 

pr this world's light confine the boundless song : 
To thee, bright niaid, in death I'll touch the lyre. 

And to my soul the theme shall still belong. 

When, freed from clay, the flitting ghosts among, 
My spirit glides the Stygian shores around, 

Though the cold hand of death has seal'd my tongue, 
Thy praise th' infernal caverns shall rebound, 
And Lethe's sluggish waves move slower to the sound ''^-." 

" Enough," said one of the supposed kings ; " enough, divine 
pnchanter 5 there would be no end of describing to us the death 
and graces of the peerless Altisidora, not dead, as the ignorant 
world supposes, but alive in the mouth of fame, and in the penance 
Sancho Panza here present must pass through to restore her to the 
lost light. Therefore, O Rhadamanthus, who with me judgest in 
the dark caverns of Pluto, singe thou knowest all that is decreed 
by the inscrutable destinies about bringing this damsel to herself, 

'^-2 This stroplie. and the last two verses of the preccdina:, are copied Hterally from 
Garcilaso de la Vega's third ecloyue. 



speak and declare it instantly, that the happiness we expect from 
her revival may not be delayed." Minos had no sooner said this, 
than his companion Rhadamanthus arose and said : " Ho, ye 

otiicers of this household, h\ji;h and low, great and small, run one 
after another; seal Sancho's face with four-and- twenty twitcbe», 


and his arms and sides with twelve p;nches and six pricks of a pin : 
in the performance of this ceremony consists the restoration of 
Altisidora." When Sancho heard this, he broke silence, and cried 
aloud : " I vow to God I will no more let my face be ^ealed, nor 
my flesh be handled, than I will turn Turk. God's death ! what 
has handling my countenance to do with the resurrection of this 
damsel ? The old woman has had a taste, and now her mouth 
waters. Dulcinea is enchanted, and I must be whipped to dis- 
enchant her. Now Altisidora dies of some distemper it pleases 
God to send her, and she must be brought to life again by giving 
me four-and-twenty twitches, making a sieve of my body by pinking 
it with pins and pinching my arms till the blood comes ! Put these 
jests upon a brother-in-law ! I am too old a sparrow to be caught 
with chaiF. I am down to trap . . ." — " Thou shalt die then," said 
Rhadamanthus, in a formidable voice : "Relent, thou tiger; humble 
thyself, thou proud Nimrod ; suffer and be silent, since no impossi- 
bilities are required of thee, and set not thyself to examine the 
difficulties of this business. Twitched thou shalt be, pricked thou 
shalt see thyself, and pinched shalt thou groan. Ho, I say, officers, 
execute my command, if not, upon the faith of an honest man, you 
shall see to what end you were born." 

There now appeared, coming in procession along the court, six 
duennas, four of them wearing spectacles. The whole of them had 
their right hands lifted up, and four fingers' breadth of their wrists 
naked, to make their hands seem the longer, as is now the fashion. 
Scarcely had Sancho laid his hands on them, when, bellowing like a 
bull : '* No, no," cried he ; '* I might, perhaps, let all the world 
beside handle me, but to consent that duennas touch me, by no 
means ! Let them cat-claw my face as my master was served in 
this very castle, let them pierce my body through and through with 
the points of the sharpest daggers, let them tear off my fiesli with 
red-hot pincers ; I will endure it all patiently, to serve these noble 
persons. But to let these duennas touch me, I will never consent, 
though the devil should carry me away." 

Don Quixote also broke silence, saying to Sancho : " Be patient, 
son, and oblige these noble persons. Give many thanks to Heaven 


for having infused such virtue into your person, that, by its martyr- 
dom, you disenchant the enchanted and raise the dead." By this 
time the duennas were got about Sancho. Mollified and persuaded, 
and seating himself well in his chair, he held out his face and beard 
to the first, who gave him a twitch well sealed, and then made him 
a profound courtesy. " Less complaisance, less daubing, mistress 
duenna," said Sancho ; *' for, by the mass, your fingers smell of 
aromatic vinegar." In short, all the duennas sealed him, and several 
others of the house pinched him. But what he could not bear was 
the pricking of the pins. Up he started from his seat, in a transport of 
fury, and catching hold of a lighted torch that was near him, he laid 
about him with it, putting the duennas, and all his executioners, to 
flight, crying: "Avaunt, ye infernal ministers! I am not made of 
bronze, to be insensible to such horrible torments ! " 

Upon this, Altisidora, who could not but be tired with lying so 
long upon her back, turned herself on one side. At this sight, all 
the by-standers cried in a voice : " Altisidora is alive ! Altisidora 
lives I" Rhadaman thus bid Sancho lay aside his wrath, since they had 
already attained the desired end. Don Quixote no sooner saw Altisi- 
dora stir, than he went and kneeled down before Sancho : " Now is 
the time, dear son of my bowels, rather than my squire," said he, 
" to give yourself some of those lashes you stand engaged for, in 
order to the disenchantment of Dulcinea. Now» I say, is the time, 
even now, while your virtue is seasoned, and in full efficacy to 
operate the good expected from you." — " This," answered Sancho, 
" seems to me to be like pouring brine on open wounds, rather than 
honey upon bread. A good jest indeed, that twitches, pinches and 
pin-prickings must be followed by lashes. But take a great stone, 
once for all, tie it about my neck and toss me into a well, if, for the 
cure of other folks' ailments, I must always be the wedding-heifer. 
Let them leave me alone, or, by the living God, all shall out." 

Meanwhile Altisidora had seated herself upright upon the tomb ; 
at the same time the clarions struck up, accompanied by flutes, and 
the voices of all present crying aloud : " Live, Altisidora ! Long live 
Altisidora ! " The duke and duchess, and the kings Minos and Rhada- 
manthus, rose up ; and, all in a body, with Don Quixote and Sancho, 



went to receive Altisidora, and help her down from the tomb. The 
resuscitated maiden, counterfeiting the motions of one just recover- 
ing from a swoon, inclined her head to the duke and duchess and 
to the kings ; then, looking askew at Don Quixote, she said : " God 
forgive you, unrelenting knight, through whose cruelty I have been 
in the other world, to my thinking, above a thousand years. Thee 
I thank, O most compassionate squire of all the globe contains, for 
the life I enjoy. From this day, friend Sancho, six of my shifts are 
at your service, to be made into so many shirts for yourself. If 

they are not all quite new, at least they are all clean." Sancho, 
with his mitre in his hand, and his knee on the ground, kissed her 



hand. The duke ordered his mitre and flaming robe to be taken 
from him, and his cap and doublet to be returned, which was done. 
Sancho begged the duke to let him keep the mitre ^^3 ^nd frock, 
having a mind to carry them to his own country, in token and 
memory of this unheard-of adventure. The duchess replied that 
he should have them, for he knew how much she was his friend. 
Then the duke ordered the court to be cleared, and everybody to 
retire to their own apartment, and that Don Quixote and Sancho 
should be conducted to their old lodgings. 

•® The pointed cap, worn by the criminals condemned by the Holy Office was 
called coroza. It was also called convict'» mitre, in contradistinction to the bishop's 

VOL. III. 3 Q 







ANCHO slept 
that night on 
a truckle bed, 
in the same 
chamber with 
his master, a 
thing that he 
would have 
excused if he 
could, for he 
well knew the 
knight would 
disturb him 
in his sleep 

with questions and answers ; and he was'not at all disposed to talk, 
the smart of his past sufferings being still present to him, and an 
obstruction to the free use of his tongue. He would have liked 
better to have lain in a hovel alone, than in that rich apartment in 

PART II. — CHAP. LXX. 491 

His fear proved so well founded and his suspicion so just, that 
scarcely was his master got into bed, when he said : " What think 
you, Sancho, of this night's adventure ? Great and mighty is the 
force of rejected love, as your own eyes saw Altisidora dead, by no 
other darts, no other sword, nor any other warlike instrument, nor 
by deadly poison, but merely by the consideration of the rigour and 
disdain with which I always treated her." — " She might have died 
in a good hour, as much as she pleased, and how she pleased," 
answered Sancho, " and she might have left me in my own house, 
since I neither made her in love, nor ever disdained her in my life. 
I know not, nor can I imagine how it can be, that the recovery of 
Altisidora, a damsel more whimsical than discreet, should have any- 
thing to do with the torturing of Sancho Panza. Now I plainly 
and distinctly perceive there are enchanters and enchantments in 
the world, from which good Lord deUver me, since I know not how 
to deliver myself. But for the present I beseech your worship to 
let me sleep and ask me no more questions, unless you have a mind 
I should throw myself out of the window." — " Sleep, friend San- 
cho," answered Bon Quixote, " if the pin-prickings, pinchings and 
twitchings you have received will give you leave." — " No smart," 
repHed Sancho, " came up to the affront of the twitches, and for no 
other reason but because they were given by duennas, confound 
them ! But once more I beseech your worship to let me sleep, for 
sleep is the relief of those who are uneasy awake." — " Be it so," 
said Don Quixote, " and God be with you." 

They both fell asleep ; and, in this interval, Cid Hamet, author 
of this grand history, had a mind to write and give an account of 
what moved the duke and duchess to raise the edifice of which men- 
tion has been made. He proceeds to explain as follows: The 
bachelor Sampson Carrasco did not forget how, when Knight of 
the Mirrors, he had been vanquished and overthrown by Don 
Quixote, which defeat and overthrow baffled all his designs. He 
had a mind to try his hand again, hoping for better success. 
Informing himself by the page who brought the letter and presents 
to Teresa Panza, Sancho's wife, where Don Quixote was, he pro- 
cured fresh armour and a horse, and painted a white moon on his 



shield, carrying the suit upon a he-mule led by a peasant, not 
Tommy Cecial, his former squire, lest Sancho Panza or Don Quixote 
should know him. He arrived at the duke's castle, and was there 
informed what route Don Quixote had taken to be present at the 
tournaments of Saragossa. The duke also related to him the jests 
that had been put upon the knight, with the contrivance for the 
disenchantment of Dulcinea at the expense of Sancho's floggings. 
In short, he gave him an account how Sancho had imposed upon 
his master, making him believe that Dulcinea was enchanted and 
transformed into a country wench, and how the duchess had per- 
suaded Sancho that he himself was deceived, and that Dulcinea was 
really enchanted. At this the bachelor laughed, and wondered not 
a little, considering as well the acuteness and simplicity of Sancho, 
as the extreme madness of Don Quixote. The duke desired, if he 
found him, whether he overcame him or not, to return that way, to 
acquaint him with the event. The bachelor promised he would. 
He departed in search of Don Quixote, and, not finding him at 
Saragossa, went forw^ard, and there befel him what has already been 
related. He came back to the duke's castle, and recounted the 
whole to him, with the conditions of the combat, adding that Don 
Quixote was now actually returning to perform his word, like a true 
knight-errant, and retire home to his village for a twelvemonth; " in 
which time perhaps," said the bachelor, " he may be cured of his 
madness. This was the motive of all my disguises ; for it is a great 
pity that a gentleman of so good an understanding as Don Quixote 
should be mad." Thereupon he took leave of the duke, and 
returned home to await Don Quixote, who was coming after him. 

Hence the duke took occasion to play the knight this new trick, 
so great was the pleasure he took in every thing relating to Don 
Quixote and Sancho. Sending a great many of his servants, on 
horseback and on foot, to beset all the roads about the castle, every 
way by which Don Quixote could possibly return, he ordered them, 
if they met with him, to bring him, nolens volens, to the castle. They 
succeeded in meeting him, and gave notice of it to the duke, who, 
having already directed what was to be done, as soon as he heard of 
his arrival, commanded the torches and other illuminations to be 



lighted up in the court-yard, and Altisidora tobe placed upon the tomb, 
with all the preparations before related, the whole represented so 
to the life, that there was but little diiference between it and truth. 
Cid Hamet says besides that, to his thinking, the mockers were as 
mad as the mocked ; and that the duke and duchess were within 
two fingers' breadth of appearing to be mad themselves, since they 
took so much pains to make a jest of two fools ; one of whom was 
sleeping at full swing, and the other waking with his disjointed 
thoughts, in which state day and the desire to get up found them ; 
for Don Quixote, whether conquered or conqueror, never took 
pleasure in the downy bed of sloth. 

Altisidora, who, in Don Quixote's opinion was just returned 


from death to life, carried on the humour of the duke and duchess. 
Crowned with the same garland she wore on the tomb, clad in a 
robe of white taffeta flowered with gold, her hair dishevelled, and 
leaning on a black staff" of polished ebony, she suddenly entered the 
chamber of Don Quixote. The knight was so amazed and 
confounded at this apparition, that he shrunk down and covered 
himself almost over head and ears with the sheets and quilts, his 
tongue mute, with no inchnation to show her any kind of civility. 
Altisidora sat down in a chair, near his bed's head ; after fetching a 
profound sigh, with a tender and enfeebled voice, she said : " When 
women of distinction and reserved maidens trample upon honour 
and give a lose to the tongue, oversetting every obstacle, divulging 
publicly the secrets of their hearts, they must surely be reduced to a 
cruel extremity. I, signor Don Quixote de la Mancha, am one of 
these distressed and love-vanquished maidens ; yet am I long-suffer- 
ing and modest, to such a degree that my soul burst through my 
silence, and 1 lost my life. It is now two days since, by reflection 
on your rigour, O flinty-hearted knight, and harder than marble to 
my complaints ^^4^ I have been dead, or at least judged to be so 
by those that saw me. And if it were not that Love, taking pity on me, 
placed my recovery in the sufferings of this good squire, there had I 
remained in the other world." — " Love," interrupted Sancho, " might 
as well have placed it in those of my ass ; I should have taken it very 
kindly. But, pray tell me, signora, so may heaven provide you 
with a more tender-hearted lover than my master, what is it you 
saw in the other world ? what is there in hell ? for whoever dies in 
despair must perforce take up his rest in that place." — " In truth," 
answered Altisidora, " I did not die quite, since I went not to hell ; 
for , had I once set foot in it, I could not have got out again, though 
I had wished. The truth is that I came to the gate, where about 
a dozen devils were playing at tennis, in their waistcoats and 
drawers, their shirt-collars ornamented with Flanders lace, ruflles of 

^■^^ mas duro que marmol a. mis quejas ! a verse of Garcilaso de la Vega's first 



the same, with four inches of their wrists bare, to make their hands 
seem longer *. They held rackets of fire, and what astonished me 



was to observe that, instead of tennis-balls, they made use of 
books, seemingly stuffed with wind and flocks, a thing assuredly 

* It was so strange and impudent a sight for women or men to shew their naked 
wrists or arms, that the author puts the devils in that fashion. 



most marvellous and new. But what astonished me still more was 

to see that, whereas it is natural for winning gamesters to rejoice, 

and losers to be sorry, among the gamesters of that place, 

all grumbled, all were upon the fret, all cursed one 

another." — " That is not at all strange," answered Sancho ; " for 

devils, play or not play, win or not win, can never be contented." — 

" That is true," responded Altisidora. " But there is another 

thing I wonder at, I mean I wondered at. It is that at the first 

toss the ball was demolished, and could not serve a second time. 

So they whipped the books away, new and old, marvellous to behold. 

To one of them, flaming new and neatly bound, they gave such a 

smart stroke that they made its guts fly out and scattered its leaves 

all about. * See what book that is,' said one devil to another ; and 

the other devil answered : * It is The Second Part of the history of 

Don Quixote de la Mancha^ not composed by Cid Hamet, its first 

author, but by an Aragonese, who calls himself a native of Torde- 

sillas.' — * Away with it,' cried the other devil, * and down with it 

to the bottom of the deepest pit in the infernal abyss, that my eyes 

may never see it more.' — ^ Is it so bad ? ' answered the other. * So 

bad,' replied the first, * that, had I myself undertaken to make it 

worse, it had been past my skill.' They went on with their play, 

tossing other books up and down ; and I, for having heard Don 

Quixote named, whom I so passionately love, endeavoured to retain 

this vision in my memory." — " A vision doubtless it must be," said 

Don Quixote, " for there is no other I in the world. This history 

is tossed about from hand to hand ; but it stays in none, for every 

body has a kick at it. It gives me no concern to hear that I wander 

like a phantom, about the shades of the abyss or about the light of 

the earth, because I am not the person this history treats of. If it 

be good, faithful and true, it will survive for ages ; but, if it be bad, 

from its birth to its grave the passage will be but short." 

Altisidora was going on with her complaints of Don Quixote, 
when Don Quixote interrupted her : *' I have often told you, 
madam," said he, " that I am very sorry you have placed your 
afíections on me, since from mine you must expect no return but 
thanks. I was born to be Dulcinea del Toboso's, and to her the 

PART II. — CHAP. LXX. 497 

fates, if there be any, have devoted me. To think that any 
beauty shall occupy the place she possesses in my soul, is to think 
what is impossible ; I trust this will suffice to disabuse you, and 
prevail with you to retreat within the bounds of your own modesty, 
since no one can perform impossibilities." 

Altisidora hearing this, assumed an air of anger and fury : 
" God's death ! " cried she, " Don Shotten-herring, soul of a mortar, 
peach-stone, more obdurate and obstinate than a courted clown, if 
I come at you, I will tear your very eyes out. Think you, Don 
Vanquished, and Don Cudgelled, that I died for you ? All that 
you have seen this night has been but a fiction. Oh ! by the mass, 
I am not the woman to let the black of my nail ache for such 
camels, much less to die for them." — " That I verily believe," 
interrupted Sancho ; *' the business of dying for love is a jest. 
Folks may talk of it ; but for doing it, believe it, Judas ! " 

While they were engaged in this discourse, there entered the 
musician, singer and poet, who had sung the two forementioned 
stanzas. Making a profound reverence to Don Quixote, he said : " Be 
pleased, sir knight, to reckon and look upon me in the number of 
your most humble servants ; for I have been most affectionately so 
this great while, as well on account of your fame, as of your exploits." 
— " Pray, sir," answered Don Quixote, " tell me who you are, that 
my civility may correspond with your merits." The young man 
answered, that he was the musician and panegyrist of the 
foregoing night. "Indeed," replied Don Quixote, " you have an 
excellent voice. But what you sung did not seem to me much to 
the purpose, for what have the stanzas of Garcilaso to do with the 
death of this gentlewoman ^25 ?" — •* Wonder not at that sir," 
answered the musician ; ** among the upstart poets of our age, it is 
the fashion for every one to write as he pleases, and to steal from 
whom he pleases, be it to the purpose or not, and there is no silly 
thing sung or written, but it is ascribed to poetical licence." 

"^ Vide note 622, in the preceding chapter. 
VOL. in, 3 R 


Don Quixote would have replied, but the duke and duchess 
coming to visit him prevented him. Betvi^een them there passed a 
long and delicious conversation, in which Sancho said so many 
pleasant and waggish things, that their grandeurs admired afresh, 
as well at his simplicity as at his extraordinary acuteness. Don 
Quixote beseeched them to grant him leave to depart that very 
day, adding that it was more becoming such vanquished knights as 
he to dwell in a hog-stye than a royal palace. His hosts readily 
granted his request, and the duchess asked him whether Altisidora 
remained in his good graces. " Your ladyship must know, dear 
madam," answered Don Quixote, " that the whole of this damsel's 
distemper proceeds from idleness, the remedy whereof consists in 
some honest and constant employment. She has told me here that 
lace is much worn in hell : since she must needs know how to 
make it, let her stick to that ; while her fingers are employed in 
managing the bobbins, the image or images of what she loves will 
not be roving so much in her imagination. This is the truth, this 
is my opinion, and this my advice." — " And mine too," added 
Sancho ; " for I never in my life saw a maker of lace that died for love. 
Damsels that are busied have their thoughts more intent upon 
performing their tasks than upon their loves. I know it by myself; 
for, while I am digging, I never think of my dame, I mean my 
Teresa Panza, whom I love better than my very eye-lids." — " You 
say very well, Sancho," replied the duchess ; " and I will take care 
that my Altisidora shall henceforward be employed in needle-work, 
at which she is very expert." — " There is no need, madam," 
answered Altisidora, " of this remedy. The consideration of the 
cruel treatment I have received from this ruffian and monster will 
blot him out of my memory, without any other expedient; and, 
with your grandeur's leave, I will withdraw, that I may not have 
before my eyes, I will not say his sorrowful figure, but his 
abominable and hideous carcase." — " I wish," said the duke, " this 
may not prove like the saying that a lover railing is not far from 
forgiving." Altisidora, making shew of wiping the tears from her 
eyes with a handkerchief, and then making a low courtesy to her 
lord and lady, went out of the room. " Poor damsel," said Sancho, 



" you have what you deserve for fixing your affections on a heart 
of rushes and a soul of oak ? In faith, if thou hadst had to do with 
me, another guise cock would have crowed." 

The conversation at an end, Don Quixote dressed himself, dined 
with the duke and duchess and departed that afternoon. 






CRN and crest-fallen, 
and in an exceedingly 
pensive mood, the 
vanquished and self- 
abased Don Quixote 
travelled along : sad 
on the one hand at 
the thought of his 
defeat, and joyful on 
the other, forasmuch 
as the disenchantment 
of Dulcinea was likely 
to be speedily effect- 
ed by the virtue 
inherent in Sancho, 
of which he had just 
given a manifest proof 
in the resurrection of 
Altisidora. However, 
he could not readily 


bring himself to believe that the enamoured damsel was really 
dead. As for Sancho, he went on not at all pleased to find that 
Altisidora had not been as good as her word in giving him the 
shifts. Revolving it in his mind, he said to his master : " In truth, \^ 
sir, I am the most unfortunate physician that is to be met with in 
the world ; for there are doctors who kill the patient they have 
imder cure, and yet are paid for their pains, which is no more than 
signing a Kttle scroll of certain medicines, which the apothecary, 
not the doctor, makes up ; while poor I, though another's cure cost 
me drops of blood, twitches, pinchings, pin-prickings and lashes, 
get not a doit. But, I vow to God that if ever any sick man falls 
into my hands again, he shall grease them well before I perform 
the cure ; for, * the abbot must eat that sings for his meat,' and I 
cannot believe Heaven has endued me with the virtue I have for 
me to communicate it to others for nothing." — "You are in the 
right, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote, " and Altisidora has 
done very ill by you not to give you the promised smocks. 
Though the virtue you have was given you gratis, for it cost you no 
study, yet to endure martyrdom on your person is worse than the 
severest study. For myself, I can say that if you had a mind to be 
paid for disenchanting Dulcinea, I would have made it good to you 
ere now. But I do not know whether payment will agree with the 
conditions of the cure, and I would by no means have the reward 
hinder the operation of the medicine. For all that, I think there 
can be no risk in making a small trial. Consider, Sancho, what 
you would demand, and set about the whipping without more 
delay ; then pay yourself in ready money, since you have cash of 
mine in your hands." 

Sancho opened his eyes and ears a span wider at this proposal, 
and in his heart consented to whip himself heartily. He said to 
his master : " Well then, sir, I will now dispose myself to give 
your worship satisfaction, since I shall get something by it. I 
confess, the love I have for my wife and children makes me seem a 
little self-interested. Tell me, sir, how much will your worship give 
for each lash ? " — " Were I to pay you, Sancho," answered Don 
Quixote, ** in proportion to the greatness and quality of the cure, the 



treasure of Venice and the mines of Potosi would be too small a 
recompense. But see how much cash you have of mine, and set 
your own price upon each lash." — " The lashes," answered Sancho, 
** are three thousand three hundred and odd. Of these I have already 
given myself five ; the rest remain. Let the five pass for the odd 
ones, and let us come to the three thousand three hundred ; At a 
cuartillo ^26 apiece, and I will not take less, though all the world 
should command me, the price will amount to three thousand three 
hundred cuartillos which make one thousand six hundred and 
fifty half reals, which make eight hundred and twenty-five reals. 
These I will deduct from what I have of your worship's in my 
hands, and shall return to my house rich and contented, though 
well whipped, for * they do not take trouts ... ^27 '^ J gay no more." 

" O blessed Sancho ! O amiable Sancho ! " cried Don Quixote, 
**how much shall Dulcinea and I be bound to serve you all the 
days of life Heaven shall be pleased to grant us ! If she recovers 
her lost state, as it is impossible but she must, her mishap will prove 
her good fortune, and my defeat a most happy triumph. When, 
Sancho, do you propose to begin the discipline ? I will add a 
hundred reals over and above for despatch." — "When?" replied 
Sancho, " even this very night without fail : take you care, sir, 
that we maybe in open field ; T will take care to lay my flesh open." 

At length came the night, expected by Don Quixote with the 
greatest anxiety in the world; the wheels of Apollo's chariot 
seeming to him to be broken, and the day to be prolonged beyond 
its usual length, even as it happens to lovers, who, in the account 
of their impatience, think the hour of the accomplishment of their 
desires will never come. At last, the knight and his squire got 
among some pleasant trees a little way out of the high road, where, 
leaving the saddle and pannel of Rocinante and the donkey vacant, 
they laid themselves along on the green grass, and supped out of 
Sancho's cupboard. The latter, having made a ponderous and 

626 A small coin worth the fourth part of a real, about three halfpence. 

*-' The whole proverb is : " Trouts are not taken without wetting one's breeches. 
No ^ toman truchas á bragas er^utas. 


flexible wliip of Dapple's head-stall and halter, withdrew about 
twenty paces from his master among some beech-trees. Don 
Quixote, seeing him go with such resolution and spirit, said to him : 
y/ " Take care, friend, you do not lash yourself to pieces ; take time ; let 
one stroke stay till another is over; hurry not yourself so as to lose 
your breath in the midst of your career ; I mean, you must not 
lay it on so unmercifully as to lose your life before you attain to 
the desired number. In order that you may not lose the game by 
a card too much or too little, I will stand aloof here, and keep 
reckoning upon my beads the lashes you shall give yourself; and 
may Heaven favour you as your worthy intention deserves." — 
ye " The good paymaster is in pain for no pawn," answered Sancho ; 
" I design to lay it on in such a manner that it may smart without 
killing me. In this the essence of the miracle must needs 

He then stripped himself naked from the waist upward ; then, 
snatching and cracking the whip, he began to lay on himself, and 
Don Quixote to count the strokes. Sancho had scarcely given 
himself about six or eight, when he thought the jest a little too 
heavy, and the price much too easy. Stopping his hand awhile, 
he told his master that he appealed on being deceived, every lash 
being richly worth half a real, instead of a cuartillo. " Proceed, 
friend Sancho, and be not faint-hearted," answered Don Quixote ; 
" I double the pay." — " If so," returned Sancho, " away with it in 
God's name, and let it rain lashes." But the sly knave soon 
ceased laying them on his back. He laid them on the trees, 
fetching ever and anon such groans that one would have thought 
each would have torn up his very soul. Don Quixote, naturally 
tender-hearted, and fearing he would put an end to his life, and 
that he thus should not attain his desire through Sancho's 
imprudence, said to him : " I conjure you, by your life, friend, let 
the business rest here ; this medicine seems to me very harsh, and 
it will not be amiss to give time to time. Zamora ^^s ^^s not 

"** An ancient town in the kingdom of Leon, long disputed by the Arabs and the 



taken in one hour. You have ah'eady given yourself, if I reckon 
right, above a thousand lashes; enough for the present, for the 
ass, to speak in homely phrase, will carry the load, but not a double 
load." — " No, no," answered Sancho, " it shall never be said for me 
* the money paid, the work delayed.' Pray, sir, get a little farther 
off, and let me give myself another thousand lashes at least. A 
couple more of such bouts will finish the job, and stuff to spare.*' 
— " Since you find yourself in so good a disposition," rejoined 
Don Quixote,'" Heaven assist you; stick to it, for I am gone." 
Sancho returned to his task with so much energy, and such was 

the rigour with which he gave the lashes, that he soon tore the 
bark off many a tree. Once, lifting up his voice and giving an 


immeasurable stroke to a beech, he cried: "Down with thee, Sampson, 
and all that are with thee." Don Quixote presently ran to the 
sound of the piteous voice and the stroke of the severe blow ; and, 
laying hold of the twisted halter which served Sancho instead of a 
bull's thong, he said : " Heaven forbid, friend Sancho, that, for my 
pleasure, you should lose that life upon which depends the main- 
tenance of your vdfe and children. Let Dulcinea wait a better 
opportunity ; for I will contain myself within the bounds of the 
nearest hope, and stay till you recover fresh strength, that this 
business may be concluded to the satisfaction of all parties." — 
** Since your worship, dear sir, will have it so," answered Sancho, 
"so be it, in God's name; but pray fling your cloak over my 
shoulders, for I am covered with perspiration, and do not want to 
catch cold as new disciplinan ts are apt to do." Don Quixote did so, 
and, leaving himself in his doublet, he covered up Sancho, who 
slept till the sun waked him. Then they prosecuted their journey, 
and stopped at a village about three leagues ofl*. 

They alighted at an inn, which Don Quixote took for such, and 
not for a castle moated round, with its turrets, portcullises, and 
drawbridge; for, since his defeat, he discoursed with more 
judgment on all occasions, as will presently appear. He was 
lodged in a room on the ground floor, hung with painted serge at 
the window instead of curtains, as is the fashion in country towns. 
In one of the pieces was painted, by a wretched hand, the rape of 
Helen, when the daring guest carried her off" from Menelaus. In 
the other was the history of Dido and ^neas, she upon a high 
tower, making signals with half a bed-sheet to her fugitive guest, 
who was out at sea, flying away from her in a frigate or brigantine. 
The knight observed, in the two history-pieces, that Helen went 
away with no very ill-will, for she was slily laughing to herself. 
But the beauteous Dido seemed to let fall from her eyes tears as big as 
walnuts. When Don Quixote had observed them : " These two ladies," 
said he, " were most mifortuuate in not being born in this age, and I, 
above all men unhappy that I was not born in theirs ; for had I 
encountered those gallants, Troy had not been burnt, nor Carthago 
destroyed ; by my killing Paris only, these great calamities had 
VOL. III. 3 S 



been prevented." — " I hold a wager," said Sancho, " that ere it 
be long there will be neither eating-house, tavern, inn, nor barber's 
shop, in which the history of our exploits will not be painted. 
But I could wish they may be done by the hand of a better painter 
than he who did these." — " You are in the right, Sancho," replied 
Don Quixote, " for this painter is like Orbaneja of Ubeda, who, 
when he was asked what he was drawing answered : * As it shall 
happen ;' and if it chanced to be a cock, he wrote under it : * This is 
a cock,' lest people should take it for a fox. Just such a one, 
methinks, Sancho, the painter or writer (it is all one) must be, 
who wrote the history of the new Don Quixote ; he painted or 
wrote whatever came uppermost. Or, he is like a poet, some years 
about the court, called Mauleon ; he answered all questions extem- 
pore, and a person asking him the meaning of Deum de Deo, he 
answered : * Wherever it hits ^29/ g^t, setting all this aside, tell me, 
Sancho, do you think of giving yourself the other brush to-night ? 
and should you like it to be under a roof, or in the open air ;" — 
" Before Heaven, sir," rejoined Sancho, " for what I intend to give 
myself, it is all the same to me, whether it be in the house, or in a 
field. I had, however, rather it were among trees ; methinks, they 
accompany me as it were, and help me to bear my toil marvellously 
well." — " However, it shall not be now, friend Sancho," answered 
Don Quixote ; " that you may recover strength, it shall be reserv- 
ed for our village, whither we shall arrive by the day after to-mor- 
row at farthest." — " Your worship may order that as you please," 
added Sancho ; " but, for m}^ part, I am desirous to make an end of 
the business out of hand, in hot blood and while the mill is grind- 
ing; for usually the danger lies in the delay; and pray to God 

^ In Spanish : Dé donde diere. Cervantes, in his Dialogue between the Two Dogs, 
quotes the same word from the same Mauleon, whom he calls Foolish Poet, although 
an academician of the Academy of Imitators. 

This Academy of Imitators or Imitatoria (in imitation of the Italian Academies) 
was founded at Madrid in 1586, in the house of a noble lord, a friend of letters ; but 
it subsisted only a short time. 



devoutly and hammer on stoutly; and one take is worth two Fll 
give thee's, and a sparrow in hand is better than a vulture on the 
wing. " — " No more proverbs, Sancho, for God's sake," cried Don 
Quixote ; " methinks you are going back to sicut erat. Speak 
plainly and without flourishes, as I have often told you. You will 
find it a loaf per cent in your way." — " I know not how I came to 
be so unlucky," answered Sancho ; " I cannot give a reason without 
a proverb, nor a proverb which does not seem to me to be reason. 
But I will mend if I can," And thus ended their conversation for 
that time. 





hkt, ' 

HE whole of that 
day Don Quixote 
and Sancho stayed 
at the village inn, 
awaiting the ap- 
proach of night, the 
one, to finish his 
task of whipping in 
the fields, the other, 
to see the success 
of it, in which con- 
sisted the accom- 
plishment of his 
wishes. About the 
^— -^ -^ — ^_ same time there 

arrived before the inn-door a traveller on horseback, with three or 
four servants, one of whom said to him who seemed to be their 
master: **Here, signer Don Alvaro Tarfé, your worship may take 
your siesta ; the lodging seems to be cool and cleanly." Hearing 
this, Don Quixote said to Sancho : ** I am mistaken, Sancho, if when 

PART II. — CHAP. LXXir. 509 

I turned over the second part of my history, I had not a glimpse of 
this Don Alvaro Tarfé." — " It may be so," answered Sancho ; " let 
him first alight, and then we will question him," The gentleman, 
got down, and the landlady showed him into a lower-room, oppo- 
site to that of Don Quixote, hung likewise with painted serge. 
This new comer undressed and equipped himself in cool attire ; 
and, stepping out to the porch, which was airy and spacious, where 
Don Quixote was walking backwards and forwards : " Pray, sir, 
which way is your worship travelling ? " he asked. " To a village 
not far off," answered Don Quixote, " where I was born. And, 
pray sir, which way may you be travelling ? " — " I, sir," answered 
the gentleman, " am going to Granada, which is my native country." 
— " And a good country it is," replied Don Quixote ; " but, sir, 
oblige me so far as to tell me your name ; for I conceive it imports 
me to know it more than I can well express." — " My name is Don 
Alvaro Tarfé ; " answered the new guest. " Then I presume," 
rejoined Don Quixote, " your worship is that Don Alvaro Tarfé 
mentioned in the Second Part of the History of Don Quixote de la 
Mancha, lately printed and published by a certain modern author." 
— " The very same," answered the gentleman ; " and that Don 
Quixote, the hero of the said history, was a very great friend of 
mine. I was the person who drew him from his native place, or at 
least I prevailed upon him to be present at certain jousts held at 
Saragossa, whither I was going myself. And in truth, I did him a 
great many kindnesses, and saved his back from being well stroked 
by the hangman for being too bold^^o '♦ — « Pray tell me, signor Don 
Alvaro," resumed Don Quixote, "am I anything like the Don 
Quixote you speak of?" — " No, certes," answered the guest, " not 
in the least." — " And this Don Quixote," added ours, " had he a 
squire with him called Sancho Panza?" — "Yes, doubtless," an- 
swered Don Alvaro ; " but though he had the reputation of being 
very pleasant, I never heard him say one thing that had any 
pleasantry in it." — " I verily believe it ! " cried Sancho ; " it is not 

«» Vide Chapters VIII., IX. and XXVI of the Don Quixote of Avellaneda. 


everybody's talent to say pleasant things ; and this Sancho your 
worship speaks of, signor gentleman, must be some very great 
rascal, idiot and knave into the bargain. The true Sancho Panza 
am I, who have more witty conceits than there are drops in a 
shower ; if not, try but the experiment, sir. Follow me but one 
year, and you will find that they drop from me at every step, and 
are so many and so pleasant that, for the most part without know- 
ing what I say, I make everybody laugh that hears me^^^ The true 
Don Quixote de la Mancha, the renowned, the valiant, the discreet, 
the enamoured, the undoer of injuries, the defender of pupils and 
orphans, the protector of widows, the murderer of damsels, he who 
has the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso for his sole mistress, behold 
him here in this gentleman present, my master. Any other Don 
Quixote whatever and any other Sancho Panza are all mockery, 
and mere dreams." — " Before God I believe it," answered Don 
Alvaro, " for you have said more pleasant things, friend, in four 
words you have spoken, than the other Sancho Panza in all I ever 
heard him say, and that was a great deal. He was more gluttonous 
than well-spoken, and more stupid than pleasant ; and I take it for 
granted that the enchanters who persecute the good Don Quixote 
have had a mind to persecute me too with the bad one. But, in 
sooth, I know not what to say ; for I durst have sworn I had left 
him under cure in the Toledo mad-house ; and now, here starts up 
another Don Quixote, though very different from mine." — " I know 
not," replied Don Quixote, " whether I am the good one, but I can 
say I am not the bad one. In proof of what I advance, you must 
know, dear signor Alvaro Tarfé, that I never was in Saragossa in all 
the days of my life. On the contrary, having been told that this 
imaginary Don Quixote was at the tournaments of that city, I 
resolved not to go thither, that I might make him a liar in the face 
of all the world. So I went directly to Barcelona, that town for 
beauty unique, that register of courtesy, asylum of strangers, 
hospital of the poor, native country of the valiant, avenger of the 

^^ In this tirade there is a continual jeu de mots between Gracioso, pleasing, 
gracias, sallies, bons mots, and gracia, grace, harmony, of which it is impossible to 
preserve in English all the grace. 


injured, that agreeable seat of firm friendship. Although what 
befel me there be not very much to my satisfaction, but, on the 
contrary, much to my sorrow, the having seen that city enables me 
the better to bear it. In a word, signor Don Alvaro Tarfé, I am 
Don Qixote de la Mancha, the same that fame speaks of, and not 
that unhappy wretch who would usurp my name and arrogate to 
himself the honour of my exploits. Therefore I conjure you, sir, 
as you are a gentleman, to make a declaration before the alcalde of 
this town that you never saw me before in your life, that I am not 
the Don Quixote printed in the Second Part, nor this Sancho 
Panza, my squire, him you knew." — " That I will, with all my 
heart," answered Don Alvaro ; " but it really surprises me to see 
two Don Quixotes and two Sanchos at the same time, as different 
in their actions as alike in their names. Yes, I repeat and 
maintain that I am now convinced I have not seen what I have seen, 
nor, in respect to me, has that happened which has happened." — 
" Without doubt," interposed Sancho, " your worship must be 
enchanted, like my lady Dulcinea del Toboso ; and would to 
Heaven your disenchantment depended upon my giving myself 
another three thousand and odd lashes, as I do for her ; I would 
lay them on without interest or reward." — " I understand not 
this business of lashes," returned Don Alvaro. Sancho made 
answer that it was too long to tell at present, but that he would 
give a full account of the circumstances if they happened to travel 
the same road. 

Dinner-time was now come, and Don Quixote and Don Alvaro 
dined together. By chance the alcalde of the place came into the 
inn with a notary. Don Quixote desired of him that Don Alvaro 
Tarfé, the gentleman there present, might depose before his 
worship that he did not know Don Quixote de la Mancha there 
present also, and that he was not the man handed about in a 
printed history entituled : " The Second part of Don Quixote de la 
Mancha^ written by a certain de Avellaneda, a native of 
Tordesillas." In short, the alcalde proceeded according to form. 
The deposition was worded as strong as could be in such a case : at 
which Don Quixote and Sancho were overjoyed; as if this 


attestation had been of the greatest importance to them, as if the 
difference between the two Don Quixotes and the two Sanchos 
were not evident enough from their words and actions. 

Many compliments and offers of service passed between Don 
Alvaro and Don Quixote, in which the great Manchegan shewed 
his discretion in such manner that he convinced Don Alvaro Tarfé 
of the error he was in, persuading him that he must needs be 
enchanted, since he had touched with his hand two such contrary 
Don Quixotes. The evening came, they departed from the inn, 
and at the distance of about half a league, the road parted into 
two, one leading to Don Quixote's village, and the other to where 
Don Alvaro was going. In this little way, Don Quixote related 
to him the misfortune of his defeat, likewise the enchantment and 
cure of Dulcinea. All this afforded new matter of surprise to 
Don Alvaro, who, embracing Don Quixote and Sancho, went on 
his way, and left them to follow theirs. 

That night the knight passed among some other trees, to give 
Sancho an opportunity of finishing his discipline. This the 
latter did after the same manner as he done the night before, more 
at the expense of the bark of the beeches than of his back, of 
which he was so careful, that the lashes he gave it would not have 
brushed off a fly that had been upon it. The deceived Don 
Quixote was very punctual in telling the strokes, and found that, 
including those of the foregoing night, they amounted to three 
thousand and twenty-nine. One would have thought the sun 
himself had risen earlier than usual to behold the sacrifice ; but, 
directly daylight appeared, they resumed their journey, discoursing 
together of Don Alvaro's mistake, and how prudently they had 
contrived to procure his deposition before a magistrate in so 
authentic a form. 

That day and the following night they travelled without any 
occurrence worth relating, unless it be that Sancho finished his 
task that night ; at which Don Quixote was above measure pleased, 
and waited for the day to see if he could light on his lady, the 
disenchanted Dulcinea, in his way; and, continuing his journey, 
he looked narrowly at every woman he met to see if she were 



Dulcinea del Toboso; for he held it for infallible that Merlin's 
promises could not lie. 

With these thoughts and desires, they ascended a little hill, 
whence they discovered their village. At this sight, Sancho 
kneeled down and cried : " Open thine eyes, O desired country, 
and behold thy son, Sancho Panza, returning to thee again, if not 
very rich, at least very well whipped. Open thine arms and receive 
likewise thy son ' Don Quixote, who, if he comes conquered by 

another's hand, yet comes a conqueror of himself, which, as I have 
heard him say, is the greatest victory that can be desired. Money 
I have ; for, if I have been well whipped, I am come off like a 
gentleman ^^" — " Leave those fooleries, Sancho,'* said Don 

"" The same proverbial expressions arc already introduced in Sancho's letter to 
his wife Teresa, in the thirty-sixth chapter of this part. 
VOL. ni. 3 T 



Quixote, " and let us go directly home to our village, where we 
will give full scope to our imaginations, and settle the plan we 
intend to govern ourselves by in our pastoral life." This said, they 
descended the hill, and went directly to the village. 







T the entrance into the village, 
as Cid Hamet reports, Don 
Quixote saw a couple of boys 
quarreUingin the village era^^, 
and one said to the other: 
*' Trouble not yourself, Peri- 
quillo, for you shall never see 
it more while you live." Don 
Quixote overhearing this, said 
to Sancho : " Do you not take 
notice, friend, what this boy has 

'"*" ' r->~^~~*"' said : * You shall never see it 

more while you live/ " — " Well," answered Sancho, " what signifies 

«« There are no bam» in Spain. The corn is thrashed in the open «ür on level 
ground, generally at the entrance to villages, which ground is culled la» iras. 


it if the boy did say so ? "— " What ! " replied Don Quixote, " do 
you not perceive that, applying these words to my purpose, the 
meaning is, that I shall never see Dulcinea more ? " Sancho would 
have answered, but was prevented by seeing a hare come running 
across the field, pursued by abundance of dogs and sportsmen. The 
poor animal, frightened, came for shelter and squatted between 
Dapple's feet. Sancho took her up alive, and presented her to Don 
Quixote, who cried : " Malum signum, malum signum ! A hare 
flies, dogs pursue her ; it is all over, Dulcinea will never appear 
again." — " Your worship is a strange man," said Sancho ; " let us 
suppose now that this hare is Dulcinea del Toboso, and these dogs 
that pursue her those wicked enchanters who transformed her into 
a country wench ; she flies, I catch her and put her into your 
worship's hands, who have her in your arms and make much of her; 
what bad sign is this, or what ill omen can you draw hence ? " 

The two contending boys came up to look at the hare, and 
Sancho asked one of them what they were quarrelling about. An 
answer was made by him who had said : " You shall never see 
it more while you live," that he had taken a cage full of crickets 
from the other boy, which he never intended to restore to him 
while he lived. Sancho drew a small piece of silver from his 
pocket and gave it the boy for his cage, which he put into Don 
Quixote's hands and said : " Behold, sir, all your omens broken 
and come to nothing; and they have no more to do with our 
adventures, in my judgment, dunce as I am, than last year's clouds. 
If I remember right, I have heard the curate of our village say that 
good Christians and wise people ought not to regard these fooleries ; 
and your worship told me as much yourself a few days ago, giving 
me to understand that all such Christians as minded presages were 
fools. There is no need of troubling ourselves any further about 
them ; let us go on, and get home to our village." 

The hunters came up, and demanded their hare, which Don 
Quixote gave up to them ; the knight then went on his way, and, 
at the entrance of the village, in a little meadow, met the curate 
and the bachelor Sampson Carrasco repeating their breviary. Now 
you must know that Sancho Panza had thrown the buckram robe 



painted with flames of fire, which he had worn at the duke's castle, 
the night he had restored Altisidora to life, over the bundle of 
armour upon his ass, instead of a sumpter-cloth ; he had likewise 
clapped the mitre on Dapple's head, insomuch that never was ass 
so metamorphosed and adorned. The curate and the bachelor 
presently knew them both and came running to them with open 

arms. Don Quixote ahghted and embraced them closely. The 
boys, who are sharp-sighted as lynxes, espying the ass's mitre, 
flocked to view him, and said one to another : " Come, boys, and 
you shall see Sancho Panza's ass finer than Mingo Rcvulgo ^3*, and 
Don Quixote's beast leaner than ever." Finally, surrounded with 
boys and accompanied by the curate and Carrasco, they entered 

•** The hero of an ancient popular triplet, in which he is addressed : 

¡ Ah ! Mingo Revulgo, u hao ! 

¿ Que e» de tu sayo de blao ? 

¿ No le vistes en domingo? 
•* Hey ! Minyo Reimlf/o, hey, heyday ! what have you done with your blue cloth 
doublet ? Do you not wear it on Sundays ? " 



the village, and took the way to Don Quixote's house, where they 
found at the door the housekeeper and the niece, who had ah*eady 



heard the news of his arrival. It had likewise reached the ears of 
Teresa Panza, Sancho's wife, who, half naked, with her hair about 
her ears, and dragging Sanchica after her, ran to see her husband. 
But, seeing liim not so well equipped as she imagined a governor 
ought to be, she said : " What makes you come thus, dear husband ? 
Methinks you come a-foot like a dog. You seem more like a bad 
subject than a governor." — " Peace, Teresa," answered Sancho : 
" There is not always bacon where there are pins to hang it on. 
Let us go to our house, where you shall hear wonders. Money I 
bring with me, which is the main business, earned by my own 
industry, and without damage to anybody." — " Bring but money, 
my good husband," rejoined Teresa, " and let it be got this way or 
that way, for, get it how you will, you will have brought up no new 
custom in the world." Sanchica embraced her father, and asked if 



he had brought her anything ; for she had been wishing for him, 
she said, as people do for rain in May. She, taking hold of his belt 
on one side, and his wife taking him by the hand on the other, 
Sanchica leading Dapple by the bridle after her, they went home 
to their house, leaving Don Quixote in his, in the power of his 
niece and the housekeeper, and in the company of the curate and 
the bachelor. 

Don Quixote, without standing upon times or seasons, imme- 
diately went apart with the bachelor and the curate, and related to 
them in few words how he was vanquished, and the obligation he 
lay under not to stir from his village for a year, an engagement he 
intended punctually to observe without transgressing a tittle, as 
became a true knight-errant, obliged by the strict precepts of 
chivalry. He added that he had resolved to turn shepherd for that 
year, and to pass his time in the solitude of the fields, where he 
might give the reins to his amorous thoughts, exercising himself in 
that pastoral and virtuous employment. Finally, he besought them, 
if they had leisure and if they were not engaged in business of 
greater consequence, to bear him company. " I will buy sheep," 
said he, " and stock sufficient to give us the name of shepherds. I 
must inform you that the principal part of the business is already 
done, for I have already chosen for you names as fit as if they had 
been cast in a mould." — " What are they ? " asked the curate. " I," 
answered Don Quixote, " will be called the shepherd Quixotiz ; 
the bachelor here, the shepherd Carrascon ; you, signor curate, the 
shepherd Curiambro ; and Sancho Panza, the shepherd Panzino." 

The two friends were astonished at this new madness of Don 
Quixote ; but, to prevent his rambling once more from his village 
and resuming his chivalries, and in hopes he might be cured in the 
course of the year, they fell in with his new project, and applauded 
his folly as a high piece of discretion, offering to be his companions 
in his rural exercise. " Besides," said Sampson Carrasco, " I, as 
every body knows, am an excellent poet, and shall be composing, 
at every turn, pastoral or courtly verses, or such as shall be most 
for my purpose, to amuse and divert us as we range the fields. 
But, gentlemen, the first and chief thing necessary, is that each of 



us choose the name of the shepherdess he intends to celebrate in 
his verses, and we will not leave a tree, be it ever so hard, in whose 
bark we will not inscribe and grave her name, as is the fashion and 
custom of enamoured shepherds." — " That is very right," answered 
Don Quixote. " Though for my part, I need not trouble myself 
to look for a feigned name, having the peerless Dulcinea del 
Toboso, the glory of these banks, the ornament of these meads. 

the support of beauty, the cream of good humour, and lastly, the 
worthy subject of all praise, be it ever so hyperbolical." — " True," 
said the curate. " But as for us, we must look out for shepherdesses 
VOL. III. 3 U 



of an inferior stamp, who, if they do not square, may comer with 
us." — " And when we are at a loss," added Sampson Carrasco, " we 
willgive them the names we find in print, of which the world is 
full, to wit the Phillises, Amarallises, Dianas, Floridas, Galateas, 
Belisarduses. Since they are sold in the market, we may lawfully 
buy and make use of them as our own. If my mistress, or to 
speak more properly, my shepherdess, is called Ana, I will celebrate 
her under the name of Anarda ; if her name be Frances, I will 
call her Francescina ; if Lucy, Lucinda, and so of the rest. And 
Sancho Panza, if he is to be one of this brotherhood, may 
celebrate his wife Teresa Panza by the name of Teresaina ^^s/» 
Don Quixote smiled at the application of the names ; and the 
curate highly applauded his virtuous and honourable resolution, 
again oflTeriiig to bear him company all the time he could spare 
from attending the duties of his function. With this the two 
friends took their leave of the knight, desiring and entreating him 
to take care of his health, and make much of himself with good 
heartening things. 

Fortune would have it that the niece and housekeeper overheard 
all the conversation, and, as soon as Don Quixote was alone, they 
both entered the room : " What is the meaning of this, uncle ? " 
said the niece. "Now that we thought your worship was returned 
with a resolution to stay at home and live a quiet and decent life, 
you have a mind to involve yourself in new labyrinths by turning 
little shepherd that comes, little shepherd that goes. In truth ! 
barley-straw is too hard to make pipes of." The housekeeper 
hastened to add : " And can your worship bear, in the open fields, 
the summer's sultry heat, the winter's pinching cold, and the 
howling of the wolves ? No, certainly ; this is the business of 
robust fellows, tanned and bred to such employment from their 
cradles. Of the two evils, it is better to be a knight-errant than a 
shepherd. Look you, sir, take my advice ; it is not given by one 

^ Aina is an old word meaning, in haste. Teresaina would mean Teresa the 
cross. Sancho called her previously Teresonay which would mean literally Teresa 
the stout. 



full of bread and wine, but fasting, and with fifty years over my 
head : stay at home, look after your estate, go often to confession 
and relieve the poor, and, if any ill comes of it, on my soul ..." 
— " Peace, daughters," interrupted Don Quixote ; " I know 
perfectly what I have to do. Lead me to bed ; for methinks I am 
not very well ; and assure yourselves, that whether I am a knight- 
errant or a wandering shepherd, I will not fail to provide for you, as 
you shall find by experience." The two good women, housekeeper 
and niece, carried him to bed, where they gave him to eat, and 
made as much of him as possible. 





ID Hamet begins this 
last chapter by asserting 
that all human things, 
especially the lives of 
men, are by nature 
transitory, incessantly 
declining from their 
beginning, till they 
arrive at their final 
period, and as that of 
Don Quixote had no 
peculiar privilege from 
Heaven to exempt it 
from the common fate, 
so did his end and dissolution come when he least thought of it. 
Whether it proceeded from the melancholy occasioned by his 
finding himself vanquished, or from the disposition of Heaven so 
decreeing it, he was seized with a fever, which confined him six 
days to his bed, in which time he was frequently visited by the 
curate, the bachelor and the barber, his friends, his trusty squire, 


Sancho Panza, never stirring from his bed-side. They, supposing 
that his grief at being vanquished and the disappointment of his 
wishes for the restoration and disenchantment of Dulcinea had 
reduced him to this state, endeavoured by all imaginable v^^ays to 
revive his spirits. The bachelor bidjhim be of good courage and 
rise from bed, to enter upon his^ pastoral exercise. " I have 
already," he added, " composed an eclogue for the occasion, not 
inferior to any written by Sannazaro ^^^ ; and I have besides 
already bought with my own money, of a herdsman of Quintanar, 
two excellent dogs to guard the flock,^ the one called Barcino, and 
the other Butrón " For all this, Don Quixote's melancholy 
continued. His friends sent for a physician, who felt his pulse and 
did not much like it, and said : " Come what may, it will not be 
amiss for him to look to his soul's health, that of his body being in 
danger." Don Quixote heard it with composure of mind. But so 
did not his housekeeper, his niece and his squire, who all began to 
weep most bitterly, as if he were already dead and laid out before 
their faces. It was the doctor's opinion that melancholy and 
disappointment had brought him to his end. Don Quixote 
desired they would leave him awhile, for he was inclined to sleep a 
little. They all did so, and he slept at a stretch, as the saying is, 
above six hours, insomuch that the housekeeper and the niece 
thought he would never awaken again. But awaken he did at the 
end of that time, and, with a loud voice, cried : " Blessed be 
Almighty God, who has vouchsafed me so great a good ! In short, 
his mercies have no bounds, and the sins of men can neither 
lessen nor obstruct them." 

The niece listened attentively to her uncle's words, and she 
thought there was more sense in them than usual, at least since his 
sickness : ** What is it you say, sir ?" asked she. " Has anything 
extraordinary happened ? what mercies and sins do you speak of." 
— " Niece," answered Don Quixote, " the mercies I mean are 
those God has been pleased, notwithstanding my sins, to vouchsafe 

<"" Giacobo Sannazaro, born in Naples in 1458, the author of several Italian 
eclogues and of the famous latin poem De Pariu Virginia, on which he was 
employed twenty years. 



me at this instant. My judgment is now undisturbed, tree Irom 
those dark clouds of ignorance with which my eager and continual 
reading of those detestable books of chivalry had obscured it. 
Now I perceive the absurdity and delusion of them. I am only 
sorry I am undeceived so late that I have no time left to make some 
amends by reading others that might help to enlighten my soul. 
I feel myself, O niece ! at the point of death, and I would fain so 
order it as not to leave the iinputation of madness upon my memory. 
Though I must confess I have been a madman, I would not confirm 
the truth of it at my death. Dear child, call hither my good 
friends the curate, the bachelor Sampson Carrasco, and master 
Nicholas the barber ; I would make my confession and my will." 
This trouble was saved the niece by the entrance of the three 
parties. No sooner had Don Quixote set his eyes on them, than 
he continued : \** Give me joy, good gentlemen, that I am now no 
longer Don Quixote de la Mancha, but Alonzo Quijano, for his 
virtues sirnamed the Good. I am now an utter enemy to Amadis 
of Gaul and the innumerable rabble of his descendants ; now, all 
the histories of knight-errantry are to me odious and profane ; I 
am now sensible of my folly, and the danger I was led into by 
reading them ; now finally, through the mercy of God and my own 
dear-bought experience, I detest and abhor them." 

When the three friends heard him speak thus, they believed that 
some new phrensy had possessed him. "What, signor Don 
Quixote," said Sampson, " now that we have news of the lady 
Dulcinea's being disenchanted, can you talk at this rate ! and now 
that we are on the point of becoming shepherds and lead our 
lives singing like princes, would you turn hermit ? Peace, in 
Heaven's name ! recollect yourself, and leave idle stories." — " Those 
which have hitherto done me so much real hurt," replied Don 
Quixote, "my repentance, by the assistance of Heaven, shall 
convert to my good. I feel, gentlemen, the quick approach of 
death. Let us be serious. Bring me a confessor, and a notary to 
draw my will. In such circumstances as these a man must not 
trifle with his soul. Therefore, I beseech you, while my friend the 
curate is taking my confession, let the notary be fetched. 



They stared at one another, wondering at Don Quixote's expres- 
sions ; but, though still in some doubt, they resolved to believe him. 
And one of the signs by which they conjectured he was dying, was his 
passing by so easy and sudden a transition from mad to sober. To 
the words he had already spoken he added others, so proper, so 
rational and so christian, that their doubt was quite removed, and 
they verily believed him in his perfect senses. The curate made 
everybody leave the room, and staid with Don Quixote alone and 

confessed him. The bachelor went out for the notary, and 
presently returned with him and Sancho Panza. Poor Sancho, 
having learned from the bachelor in what condition his master was, 
besides finding the housekeeper and the niece in tears, began to 
weep and sob. The confession ended, the curate came out of the 
room, saying : " Good Alonzo Quijano is certainly in his right 
mind ; let us all go in, that he may make his will." This news 
opened the sluices of the swollen eyes of the housekeeper, the 
niece and Sancho Panza ; so as to force a torrent of tears and a 
thousand groans from their breasts ; for, in trutli, as has been said 



before, both while he was plain Alonzo Quijano the Good, and 
while he was Don Quixote de la Mancha, he was ever of an 
amiable disposition and afíable behaviour, and was therefore 
beloved, not only by those of his own family, but by all who 
knew him. 

The notary now entered the room with the others. Then the 
preamble of the will being made, and Don Quixote having 
disposed of his soul, with all the christian circumstances required, 
coming to the legacies, he dictated as follows : " Item it is my 
will that, in respect to certain monies which Sancho Panza, whom 
in ray madness I made my squire, has in his hands, there being 
between him and me some reckonings, receipts and disbursements, 
he shall not be charged with them, nor called to any account for 
them. If, after he has paid himself, there be any overplus, which 
will be but very little, it shall be his own, and much good may it 
do him. If, as during my madness I was the occasion of procuring 
for him the government of an island, I could, now that I am in my 
senses, procure him that of a kingdom, I would readily do it, for 
the simple sincerity of his heart and the fidelity of his dealings 
deserve such a reward." Turning to Sancho, he added: " Forgive 
me, friend, for making you a madman by persuading you to believe, 
as I did myself, that there have been formerly and are now knights- 
errant in the world." — " Alas ! " answered Sancho, sobbing, " dear 
sir, do not die, take my counsel and live many years ; for the 
greatest madness a man can commit in this life, is to suffer himself 
to die without anybody's killing him, or being brought to his end 
by any other hand than that of melancholy. Be not lazy, sir, get 
out of bed, and let us be going to the field dressed like shepherds 
as we agreed to do ; who knows but behind some bush or other 
we may find the lady Dulcinea disenchanted as fine as heart can 
wish. If you die for grief of being vanquished, lay the blame 
upon me, and say you were unhorsed by my not having girthed 
Rocinante's saddle as it ought to have been. Besides your worship 
must have read in your books of chivalries that it is a common thing 
for one knight to unhorse another, and for him who is vanquished 
to-day, to become conqueror to-morrow." — " It is so," said Sampson, 


*' and honest Sancho is very much in the right." — " Gentlemen," 
resumed Don Quixote, " let us proceed fairly and softly, and not 
look for this year's birds in last year's nests. I was mad, I am now 
sober ; I was Don Quixote de la Mancha, I am now, as I have 
said, Alonzo Quijano the Good. May my unfeigned repentance 
and sincerity restore me to the esteem you once had for me and let 
the notary proceed. — Item , I bequeath to Antonia Quijano, my 
niece here present, all my estate real and personal, after the 
payment of all my debts and legacies ; and the first to be discharged 
shall be the wages due to my housekeeper for all the time she has 
been in my service, and twenty ducats beside for mourning. I 
appoint for my executors ^^^ signor the curate and signor 
bachelor Sampson Carrasco, here present. — Item, it is my will that, 
if Antonia Quijano, my niece, is inclined to marry, it shall be 
with a man who, upon the strictest enquiry, shall be found to know 
nothing of books of chivalry. In case it shall appear he is 
acquainted with them, and my niece notwithstanding will and does 
marry him, she shall forfeit all I have bequeathed her ; which my 
executors may dispose of in pious uses, as they think proper. — 
Item, I beseech the said gentlemen, my executors, that if good 
fortune should bring them acquainted with the author who is said 
to have written a history handed about and entituled. The Second 
Part of the Exploits of Don Quixote de la Mancha^ they will, in my 
name, most earnestly entreat him to pardon the occasion I have 
unwittingly given him of writing so many and so great absurdities 
as he there has done ; for I depart this life with a burden upon my 
conscience for having furnished him with a motive for so doing." 

This last dictation being added, the will was signed and attested, 
and, a fainting-fit seizing him, he stretched himself out at full 
length in the bed. All present were alarmed, and ran to his 
assistance; and, in three days that he survived the making his will, 
he fainted away very often. The house was all in confusion ; 
however, the niece ate with good appetite, the housekeeper drank 
healths, and Sancho Panza made much of himself; for legacies 
efface or moderate the grief naturally due to the deceased. 

^ Called by the Spaniards albacea». 
VOL. III. .'i X 


Finally, after receiving all the sacraments and expressing his 
abhorrence, in strong and pathetic expressions, of all books of 
chivalry, Don Quixote's last hour came. The notary was present, 
and protested he had never read in any book of chivalry that ever 
any knight-errant had died in his bed in so composed and christian 
a manner as Don Quixote. The latter, amidst the plaints and tears 
of the bj^-standers, resigned his breath, — I mean died. This the 
curate seeing, he desired the notary to draw up a certificate that 
Alonzo Quijano, commonly called Don Quixote de la Mancha, was 
departed this life and died a natural death, adding that he insisted 
upon this testimonial lest any other author besides Cid Hamet 
Ben Engeli should raise him from the dead, and write endless 
stories of his exploits. 

Such was the end of the ingenious hidalgo of la mancha, 
the place of whose birth Cid Hamet would not expressly name, 
that all the towns and villages of La Mancha might contend among 
themselves, and each adopt him for their own, as the seven cities 
of Greece contended for Homer ^^^. We omit the lamentations of 
Sancho, the niece and the housekeeper, as also the new epitaphs 
upon Don Quixote's tomb, excepting this by Sampson Carrasco ; 

" Here lies the valiant cavalier. 
Who never had a sense of fear : 
So high his matchless courage rose, 
He reckon'd death among his vanquish'd foes. 

" Wrongs to redress, his sword he drew. 
And many a caitiff giant slew ; 
His days of life tho' madness stain'd. 
In death his sober senses he regain'd." 

«38 And as it happened to the eight towns of Spain, on the subject of Cervantes. 




Here the sagacious Cid Hamet, addressing himself to his pen, 
says : " Here, O my slender quill, whether well or ill cut I know 
not, here, suspended by this brass wire shalt thou hang upon this 
pin. Here mayest thou live many long ages, if presumptuous or 
wicked malandrins do not take thee down to profane thee. But 
before they offer to touch thee, give them this warning in the best 
manner thou canst : 

Mi\. ,,, 


" * Beware, beware ye plagiaries ; let none of you touch me ; for 
this undertaking, good king, was reserved for me alone ^9.' " 

"For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him. He 
knew how to act, and I how to write. We were destined for each 
other, in spite of that scribbhng impostor of Tordesillas, who has 
dared, or shall dare, with his gross and ill-cut ostrich quill, to 
describe the exploits of my valorous knight. A burden, in effect, 
too weighty for his shoulders, and an undertaking above his cold 
and frozen genius. Warn him, if perchance he falls in thy way, 
to suffer the wearied and now mouldering bones of Don Quixote 
tí) repose in the grave ^**^, nor endeavour, in contradiction to all the 

^ A verse of an old romance. 

•* The pseudonymous Avellaneda concludes the second part of his book by 
leaving Don Quixote in the mad-house (casa del Nuncio) at Toledo. But he adds 
that tradition asserts the Don left this hospital, and that having passed through 
Madrid to see Sancho, he entered Old Castile when surprising adventures befel 
him. Cervantes here alludes to the vague promise of a third part. 



ancient usages and customs of death, to carry him into old Castile, 
making him rise out of the vault in which he really and truly lies 
at full length, totally unable to attempt a third expedition or a new 
sally. The two he has already made with such success, much 
to the general satisfaction, as well of the people of these kingdoms 
of Spain as of foreign countries, are sufficient to ridicule all that 
have been made by other knights-errant. Thus shalt thou comply 
with the duty of thy christian profession ; giving good advice to 
those who wish thee ill ; and for my part, I shall rest satisfied and 
proud to have been the first who enjoyed entire the fruits of his 
writings : for my only desire was to bring into public abhorrence 
the fabulous and absurd histories of knight-errantry, which, by 
means of that of my true and genuine Don Quixote, begin already 
to totter, and vdll doubtless fall never to rise again. — Vale ! " 





Chap. XXIII. Of the wonderful things which the unexampled Don 
Quixote declared he had seen in the deep Cavern of Montesinos ; 
the greatness and imposgibility of which things make this adven- 
ture pass for apocryphal . . . . .9 

Chap. XXIV. In which are recounted a thousand impertinencies 

necessary to the right understanding of this grand history . 25 

Chap. XXV. Wherein is set forth the Braying Adventure and the 
pleasant history of the Puppet- Player, with the memorable 
Divinations of the Divining Ape . . . .34 

Chap. XXVI. Wherein is continued the pleasant adventure of the 

Puppet-Player, with sundry other matters in truth sufficiently good 48 

Chap. XXVII. Wherein is related who Master Peter and his Ape 
were ; with the ill success Don Quixote had in the Braying Ad- 
venture, which he finished not as he wished and intended . 61 

Chap. XXVIII. Of things which Ben-Engeh says, and which he 

who reads will know, if he reads them with attention . 7 1 

Chap. XXIX. Of the famous Adventure of the Enchanted Boat . 78 

Chap. XXX. Of whatbefel Don Quixote with a fair Huntress . 88 

Chap. XXXI. Which treats of many and great things . . 95 

Chap. XXXII. Of the answer Don Quixote gave to his Censor, 

with other grave and pleasant events . . . .107 

Chap. XXXIII. Of the relishing conversation which passed between 
the Duchess, her damsels and Sancho Panza, worthy to be read 
and had in eternal remembrance . . . . 1 26 

536 INDBX. 

Chap. XXXIV. Giving an account of the method prescribed for 
disenchanting the peerless Dulcinea, which is one of the most 
famous adventures of this book . . . .136 

Chap. XXXV. Wherein is continued the account of the method 
prescribed to Don Quixote for the disenchanting of Dulcinea, 
with other wonderful events . . . . .148 

Chap. XXX VI . Wherein is related the strange and never- imagined 
adventure of the Duenna Dolorida, otherwise Countess Trifaldi, 
with a letter written by Sancho Panza to his wife Teresa Panza . 158 

Chap. XXXVII. In which is continued the famous adventure of the 

Duenna Dolorida . . . . .166 

Chap. XXXVIII. In which an account is given of the Duenna 

Dolorida's unhappy fate . . . . . 1 70 

Chap. XXXIX. Wherein the Countess Trifaldi continues her 

surprising and memorable history . . . .180 

Chap. XL. Of matters relating to this adventure, and to this 

memorable history . . . . . .185 

Chap. XLI. Of the arrival of Clavileno, with the conclusion of this 

prolix adventure . . . . . .192 

Chap. XLI I. Of the instructions Don Quixote gave Sancho Panza 
before he went to govern his Island, with other matters well 
considered ....... 206 

Chap. XLIII. Of the second instructions Don Quixote gave Sancho 

Panza ........ 214 

Chap. XLIV. How Sancho Panza was carried to his government, 

and of the strange adventure which befel Don Quixote in the castle 222 

Chap. XLV. How the great Sancho Panza took possession of his 

Island, and of the manner of his beginning to govern it . 235 

Chap. XL VI. Of the horrible concert of bells and catterwauls, 
wherewith Don Quixote was assailed in the progress of the 
enamoured Altisidora's amour . . . . 246 

Chap. XLVII. Giving a further account of Sancho's behaviour in 

his government . . . . . .255 

Chap. XLVIII. Of what befel Don Quixote with Donna Rodriguez, 
the Duchess's Duenna, together with other accidents worthy to 
be written and had in eternal remembrance . . .267 

INDEX. 537 


Chap. XLTX. Of what befel Sancho Panza as he was going the round 

of his Island . . . . . .278 

Chap. L. In which is declared who were the Enchanters and Execu- 
tioners that whipped the Duenna, and pinched and scratched 
Don Quixote ; with the success of the Page who carried the 
Letter to Teresa Panza, Sancho's wife . . . .291 

Chap. LI. Of the progress of Sancho Panza's Government, with 

other entertaining events ..... 302 

Chap. LII. In which is related the adventure of the Second Duenna 

Dolorida, otherwise called Donna Rodriguez . . .312 

Chap. LIII. Of the toilsome end and conclusion of Sancho Panza's 

Government . . . . . . .320 

Chap. LIV. Which treats of matters relating to this History, and to 

no other ....... 330 

Chap. LV. Of what befel Sancho Panza in the way, and other 

matters which you will be delighted to see . . .341 

Chap. LVI. Of the prodigious and never- seen Battle between Don 
Quixote de la Mancha, and the lacquey Tosilos, in defence of 
Donna Rodriguez' daughter . . . . .353 

Chap. LVI I. Which relates how Don Quixote took his leave of the 
Duke, and of what befel him with the witty and wanton Altisidora, 
one of the Duchess's waiting- women , . . .360 

Chap. LVÍII. Showing how adventures crowded so fast upon Don 

Quixote, that they trod upon one another's heels . .367 

Chap. LIX. Wherein is related an extraordinary event which befel 

Don Quixote, and which may pass for an adventure . . 380 

Chap. LX. Of what befel Don Quixote in his way to Barcelona . 390 

Chap. LXI. Of what befel Don Quixote at his entrance into Barcelona, 

with other events more true than ingenious . . . 408 

Chap. LXII. Which treats of the adventure of the Enchanted Head, 

with other trifles that must not be omitted. . . .413 

Chap. LXIII. Of the unlucky accident which befel Sancho Panza on 
his Visit to the Galleys, and the novel adventure of the beautiful 
Morisca ....... 429 

Chap. LXIV. Which treats of the adventure that gave Don Quixote 

more sorrow than any that had hitherto befallen him . .442 



Chap. LXV. In which is made known who the Knight of the White 
Moon was, with an account of Don Gregorio's Hberation, and 
other events . . . . . . .448 

Chap. LXVI. Treating of matters which he who reads will see, and 

he who hears them read will hear . . . .457 

Chap. LXVII. Of the resolution Don Quixote took to turn Shepherd 
and lead a rural life, till the year of his promise should be 
expired ; with other accidents truly pleasant and good . . 466 

Chap. LXVIII. Of the pleasant adventure which befel Don Quixote 474 

Chap. LXIX. Of the most novel and strangest adventure that befel 

Don Quixote in the whole course of this Grand History . .48] 

Chap. LXX. Which follows the sixty -ninth, and treats of matters 
indispensably necessary to the right understanding of this 
History ....... 490 

Chap. LXXI. Of what befel Don Quixote with his Squire Sancho, 

on their return to their village ..... 500 

Chap. LXXH. How Don Quixote and Sancho arrived at their 

village. ....... 508 

Chap. LXXHI. Of the omens Don Quixote met with at the entrance 
into his village, with other accidents which decorate and adorn 
this Great History . . . . . .515 

Chap. LXXIV. How Don Quixote fell sick, of the Will that he 

made, and of his death ...... 524 

*j^* The Notes, 640 in number, referred to by numerical references, are translated 
from M. Viardot's French Edition of the Work. The few of Jarvis's Annotations 
that have been retained are referred to by asterisks.